Glimmer
by JustThatKindOfSpecial
Summary: With Jon pleading with the Dragon Queen for the mines, Sansa was Queen of the North. Winter was here and struggling between maintaining the loyalties of the various Northern houses and her own nightmares, there is a glimmer of hope when an unexpected guest demands his reward for escorting and guarding Arya. With her new sworn shield, how far was he willing to go? Rated M for lemons
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Damn it was bloody cold, Sandor shifted against the cave wall of the Brotherhood's hide out, worming his way closer to the fire. Everyone else was talking or sleeping and here he was having a chicken leg before he rotated off his shift. Gods but he hated winter.

"…Did you hear about our little Arya?" he heard from the fire next to his.

This was another reason why he hated the Brotherhood; too many fucking fires. Nevertheless his ears perked up at the sound of the little wolf-bitch. The hate that coursed through his veins in a constant torment flooded through near his skin. Sandor ground his teeth together before insisting on eating another bite of the accompanying tough bread.

"She's back at Winterfell, according to my brother," the man ripped into his own bit of rationed meat before gulping from his wine skin. "Lucky little shit was gushing about how her sister was back. Drooling he was, over her firm teats."

The other men laughed before huddling closer than before. Sandor gave up any pretence of eating his food as he listened. The hate halted under another emotion. The little bird had flown the cage down south? She had made it to Winterfell safe and sound? A little tightness in his chest that he hadn't realised was there eased.

"Aye I heard the same," another claimed through a mouthful of food. "They say that the Lady Sansa looks exactly how the Lady Catelyn was back when she was a wee lass."

"Yeah but not exactly right in the head," one snorted, chucking his bones into the fire.

The group nodded.

"Not right?" a younger one interjected.

Yeah, what the fuck was that meant to mean? He glared across the flames waiting for an explanation.

"Well, her ladyship was married to that Ramsey Bolton," he shuddered. "He was one sick fucker that one."

Dread pooled in his stomach and Sandor almost grabbed the lad by the throat to get the rest of the story without this anticipation.

"I mean," they all leaned closer again. Sandor strained his hearing over the crackling of the flames. "You know that new young recruit? He escaped from the Battle of the Bastards but before that," he visibly swallowed. "He lived at Winterfell under Ramsey and said that he could hear Lady Sansa's screams all through the night, _every_ night-"

The Hound stood abruptly. All the men at the fire silenced, eyes wide at the sight of his face. He didn't know what it looked like but he could guarantee that it probably looked murderous.

"I'm leaving," he announced before striding to his pack.

He had enough time playing around. Clearly the little bird still had her summer plumage on when she escaped north. He may only be a dog but he could guarantee his pelt was a lot warmer and more resistant to poor treatment.

Good thing that the loyal dog was on the way.

…o0o…

Sansa rubbed her temples trying to appease the ache that was banging like a drum. Letters from everywhere rejecting sending more men for the war against the White Walkers. If this was how Jon felt all the time no wonder that he went to see the Dragon Queen. She wished she could too if only to escape another form of hand cramp.

Sighing she leaned back in her seat closing her eyes briefly. Grain was still too low, enforcements against Cersei, should she make an appearance, also too low and weapons? Don't even talk to her about the lack of winter armour that was being prepared. Winter was here and Winterfell was vastly under prepared.

Exhausted and a little cooped, Sansa shoved herself away from the desk and strode out to the courtyard in time to see the commotion at the gate and Arya's tell-tale brash voice. Holding in the urge to roll her eyes she quickened her pace. If she was bullying the lords _again-_

Not that she could exactly offer a lot to diffuse as she made her way to the bitterly cold walkway. If all the lords weren't sided with Queen Cersei they only really wanted to side with Jon if Sansa's hand in marriage was on the table. Luckily when Jon was around he insisted that she wouldn't be married to another man if he wasn't the one she wanted and trusted implicitly.

Although the warning to the other lords of the North was waning as the days turned to weeks without Jon.

"How the fuck are you alive?" Arya cried out and there was the sound of steel being unsheathed.

Gods what was it this time? Heart pounding Sansa rushed to the railing so she could view the archway that led into Winterfell and found that her own heart stopped with her feet stuck to the ground below when she saw the familiar burnt face. Sandor Clegane, the Hound. How was he alive? Brienne confirmed she shoved him off a cliff. Arya said she left him for dead.

Her blood hummed and she couldn't help the flush as his dark eyes glanced over Arya's head to where she was standing, still like a deer caught in the gaze of the predator. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her palms sweated inside her gloves.

"Hound?" Brienne gasped, her own sword coming out in a flash, rushing down the steps without her mistress.

Sansa managed to hold in her jump. She had forgotten her trusty sworn shield in the presence of her old one. Hastening down Sansa stood behind her sister not looking away from the Hound as he continued to stare at her. Was there something on her face? No, he was taking in all of her apparel but still did he have to look that intensely at her?

"The one and the fucking same," he growled.

His eyes finally released her and it felt like her heart plummeted down to her feet. Taking a step forwards she finally managed to step so she was beside Arya who she could tell was frothing at the mouth to spill some blood like a savage dog.

"Lord Clegane," Sansa folded her hands in front of her. "My thanks for seeing to my sister's safety."

His eyes claimed hers again and it took all her diligence to keep her breathing steady.

"I don't want your fucking thanks," he spat.

"No? You want your head on a fucking spike?" Arya snapped.

"You would like that wouldn't you," Sandor snarled

"Arya!" Sansa berated before turning her attention back to the Hound. "I heard you died."

"Fucking close to it."

"You are in the presence of a lady," Brienne took a menacing step forwards.

Sansa cut her off with a hand held high.

"We have nothing to give you in thanks, winter is here," she folded her hands in front of her again. "If you have something to demand go to our Maester to make a note of it until after the war and winter is over-"

She turned on her foot, her head a little dizzy. _He was here, he was here, he was here_ , her mind ran in circles at this new development. Why was he here?

"Sworn shield," Sandor called to her back.

Pausing, her heart fluttering like the birds that were so common in the south, her cheeks red not from the bitter cold. How did his voice still command attention still? She was Queen of the North she didn't have to give into any man. She swallowed. Flicking a glance behind her she saw he stood now with his shoulders straight, his hand on his sword.

"How dare you-" Brienne began.

"You would leave one form of servitude for another?" she arches her brow. "That does not seem like much of a reward to me."

"A dog without an owner is a dog without a purpose," he shrugged. "At least in your service I know I'll be killing the right enemy."

"Why would I gift you the honour of being my sworn shield when I have my own here?" she turned to face him gesturing to the tall woman next to her. "I heard she beat you."

Many of the men around them sniggered. Sandor snorted.

"Yeah by using a fucking cliff when I was infected with a bite protecting this one," he nodded his head towards Arya and rolled his shoulders. "If it was a fair match I would beat her easily."

"Defending me is never going to be easy," she countered.

"No," he grinned, the burned side of his face barely moving with his smirk. "But if I remember correctly the terrain inside your castle is flat and I have no injury to my person so I should be able to manage all the Brienne of Fucking Tarths coming to kill you."

Glancing to her sworn shield and seeing the bags under her eyes, Sansa bit her lip. It was probably very tiring to continue the long days of guarding her. Another would be better and as much as she hated to admit it she _had_ seen both of them fight and while Brienne had the ruthlessness to defeat Sandor, Sandor also had the masculine strength that would be more advantageous in a fight.

"So you are saying you could beat her here and now?" Sansa asked.

"Fucking of course."

Nodding, she turned to look where all the armour was being beaten.

"Outfit Ser Clegane," slanting a glare at him to halt his swear that he wasn't a 'bloody lord' but seeing her stare he shifted on his feet. "A fight to first blood."

Striding so she stood in front of him, she stared up at him, taking in all the glory of his burns.

"If you win, you become my sworn shield," she declared. "But if Brienne wins," she stepped closer her tone stony. "You are sworn to Winterfell and when we call on you for the upcoming war, you answer."

Nodding, Sandor slid a glance towards Brienne.

"Shall we fucking get to it then?" he unsheathed his sword finally, swinging it expertly.

Alarmed, Sansa glanced at Brienne to see she too was warming up.

"Don't you want any armour?" she asked, a slight trill coming into play.

With his one eyebrow that was still there she saw him quirk it up.

"I don't need it," he growled, striding past Sansa so he was in the centre of the courtyard facing Brienne.

A hand grasped her elbow and she gasped before stiffening when she saw it was Littlefinger.

"My lady might I suggest that you stand off to the side," he said as he guided her through the throng until she climbed the stairs to stand above them all.

She wanted to complain that she didn't need to lord over the rest of the community from a high vantage point but all the words drained from her throat at the masterpiece in front of her began. It was vicious. And deadly. And Sansa ended up praying to the gods hoping that they would spare both because both looked like they wanted to murder the other. Or at least settle for a limb lost.

With every clang as the swords met her heart beat raced harder, pounded in her ears and she could only remember feeling true fear like this when…Ramsey was there.

Kicking the legs out from under Brienne, Sandor took his advantage by punching and punching and punching until Brienne managed to kick his between his legs. Roaring, he gave one last punch but the blood was there.

He had won.

"First blood, first blood," she called frantically when it looked like Brienne would run him through with her sword.

Clambering to his feet, Sandor offered his hand to Brienne who despite the scowl took it and stood side by side as they looked up at her. Like she was a queen to pass judgement and with a jolt she realised that was her position here.

"Ser Clegane," she saw him swallow back a remark for which she was grateful. "You drew first blood and as such you have earnt the right to be my sworn shield as a reward for rescuing and defending my sister."

Sansa nodded to the blacksmith who walked up with recently created armour, meant for the other northerners had he not been there. But he had and Sansa couldn't help but feel the happier for it.

"Do not disappoint me."

With that declaration she spun on her foot to go back inside to begin her respondents hoping that sitting down would still her heart and the flush she felt through her body when she saw Sandor Clegane again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

He wasted no time in getting to his duties Sansa noticed and it wasn't like the time when they both were in King's Landing. There were less bitter remarks and frightening tactics instead it was a little off putting how little he talked. He bit back when sworn at sure, but he didn't deliberately try to antagonise anyone there.

Like she said, it was off putting.

Sighing as the last order was signed in time for dinner she strode passed Sandor and continued to the hall where everyone would be eating their rations now. Speaking of food her guard probably hadn't eaten all day.

"Sandor if you need to change off early to eat, Lady Brienne can take over?" she offered, her fingers playing with the threads holding the wool together.

"Fuck that little bird, I can wait," he grumbled, his shoulders rolling back while his dark eyes never left watching over her shoulders.

Swallowing she nodded before continuing to her space to eat her dinner. Not that she ate much. She knew what was coming when she finally came to rest and the food rested like iron in the bottom of her stomach. After a few mouthfuls, she pushed the rest around her plate for the remaining meal.

She knew she couldn't put it off forever but still she dragged her feet as much as a lady could get away with to her room. If Sandor noticed her slowed pace he didn't say but he did double check her room as if he thought the enemy was loitering there.

If only.

Saying a shaky goodnight she quickly changed into her winter shift and wrapped herself snugly in the furs and waited for sleep and the nightmares to overcome her.

…o0o…

The little bird had been acting strangely at dinner. He shifted his feet, checking down each side of the corridor, wary that an enemy would sneak up on him. What wasn't she telling him? He checked the windows and all the possible places to hide in her room and no one was there. Yet the little bird still wasn't reassured if anything the blood drained from her face so fast that he was worried she would drop to the hard flood as she stepped over the threshold into her room.

He flexed his hand around his sword handle. It felt weird to be guarding her again. He never meant to blurt out what he had and he couldn't say he could complain because he could almost pretend it was like King's Landing except with less spies and his lady less beaten and bruised. It had been a few hours since the little bird went into her room, she was probably fast asleep. He only had another couple of hours until he could get drunk and pass out in his bed.

Then he heard the scream come from inside the room he was supposed to be guarding.

Alarmed he shoved his way into the room, his gaze directed onto Sansa first to see where her attacker was before he had another reason to be concerned. She was thrashing in her bed, screaming, her hands in fists, her back arching off the bed as her eyes were clenched shut in horror.

"No! NO! PLEASE NO RAMSEY NO!" She shrieked, her fists slamming into the mattress. "STOP! I BEG YOU NO NO PLEASE NO NOT THERE DON'T DON'T PLEASE NO-"

Racing over he shook her shoulders.

"My lady," he stumbled, his hands tightening as he continued to try and wrench her from her dreams.

With a gasp and a hand slapping his cheek Sansa's eyes popped open wide. Grabbing her wrists so she wouldn't hit him again, her blue eyes had his stock still. His cheek burned but he could barely feel its heat under the terror filled eyes that absorbed his entire being.

"Sandor," her lip wobbled, her voice trying for imperious but was succeeding more at imitating a mouse. "What-What are you doing in my room?"

Sensing that it was safe he slowly released her wrists.

"You were having a nightmare," he grouched, standing and heading over to the pitcher which he knew had the mulled wine. "You were screaming."

After pouring the wine into the kettle and put it on the fire he glanced back to see Sansa staring down at the blankets, the tears left over from her dream stark against her pale face. The next few minutes she didn't say anything as he grabbed the wine and poured her a cup and took it to her bed.

As she drained it as quickly as the heat would allow he thought that would be the end of it as he stood over her, determined to see her finish the alcohol to soothe her nerves. He was not expecting the floods of tears. They weren't the dainty weeps of a lady in court. This didn't even come close. These were sobs that were wrenched out of her chest and the wails would be enough to frighten a dragon away. They showed the agony for the little bird's soul, it was a wonder her heart could handle the strain.

Alarmed he wavered as he shut the door. Did he go get Brienne? She was a woman, she would know what to do, right? He glanced at the door, prepared to open it again. But then this would be the opportune moment for assassins. Sighing he knew what he had to do. Sandor walked back carefully, determined not to alarm her further with his face. Perching on the edge of the bed with a rattle of his armour, he reached for his handkerchief and before he could convince himself otherwise, he brought the fabric up and rubbed away her tears.

Sansa froze her eyes staring up at him, her shoulder stiff. Pausing he stared down at her, silently asking permission. Answering his unasked question, she finally relaxed, taking the cloth gently from him to daintily dab at her eyes. He was such a brute of course, he was the wrong person here. Seeing the way she was sniffling, words were choking in his throat until he finally he spit:

"Little birds don't cry when their predators are killed," he grouched, his hand wavering above her head. "So neither should you."

Deciding that he was in one of the hells already, he might as well go for broke and settled his hand on top of her head.

Instead of reassuring her like he thought his words would it just sent her wailing again. His eyes widened. Fuck. What did he do now? Clearly Sansa had the answer as she rested her head against his chest, her forehead the only thing touching him. He tried patting her head to see if that would offer any relief but her sobs continued to wrack through her body. Shit he really should have gotten Brienne when he had the chance.

"I should have left with you when we had the opportunity," she breathed into his chest.

"Fuck that," he let his hand keep patting her head like a dog so brief it probably wasn't as reassuring as he thought it would be. "You probably would have still believed that shitty Littlefinger bastard and still been in the same position."

Blinking she glanced up at him her tears clumping her long lashes together. She did have the most delicate looking eyes.

"Ho-How did you know about that?"

While distrustful she still didn't pull away. The stupid fool.

"I heard from some of the other northern men," he shrugged. "But they weren't exactly forthcoming with the details."

Nodding she rested her head back against him and his hand that was awkwardly patting slowly began to give into the desire to see if her fiery hair was as soft as it looked and slowly began to comb through her long locks. He paused at the first stroke ready for her disgust, her fear but instead she burrowed closer. Swallowing he combed her hair again.

"If I had you then-" she tried.

"I'd probably be fucking flayed with the crows pecking out my eyes," he snapped. "And you'd still be in the same shitty position."

Flinching, she nodded her back shaky with her breaths. She reared back, dabbing at her face with the sodden handkerchief.

"Do you always have to be so rotten?" she asked though there was none of the former venom when she criticised him.

He shrugged as he went back to the kettle to refill her cup. Returning and placing the cup in her hand again.

"Drink," he ordered.

Dutifully she swallowed the cooled wine, barely grimacing. Repeating this twice over, he could see his lady's eyes finally drooping. He stood going to return to his vigil.

"Wait," Sansa drawled behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder he saw the way her shift had drifted down so he could see the curve of her cleavage. His little bird really had grown since King's Landing and he found that he had to direct his eyes back to his lady's face otherwise he would have had the problem below the waist.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Please could you stay in here and guard until I fall asleep?" she asked muzzily, sleep already trying to overtake her.

Nodding he went to stand a little further from the bed standing between her and the bed still. Like before words were choking at his throat with all the rage running through his system until he couldn't hold them in any longer.

"Wish the fucker wasn't dead," he growled. "Would've torn him limb from limb and left him for the fucking crows."

He hadn't expected an answer but he did.

"I did give him to the hounds," she slurred, her head burrowing into her pillow. "They tore him apart."

Swallowing down his response he pondered on those words until he was finally relieved. When he made it back to his own room, while his anger at Ramesy boiled in his blood he couldn't help the little smile that crept onto his face.

It was almost like she did give Ramsey to him. He was the Hound if he _was_ there he would have torn him apart the same as the dogs.

…o0o…

When Sansa woke the next morning she was a little groggy but not as bone tired as she usually was after the nightmares although there was the strange headache she had. The nightmares…Sandor. Wide awake she glanced around the chamber where he was absent and she remembered that he probably rotated off sometime during the night.

There was a knock at the door.

"My lady?" Brienne's voice called through the door. "Are you awake?"

Rubbing her forehead gingerly she swung her feet out, daring to touch the cold stone and hoped to her bath.

"Yes, of course," she responded stripping off her shift.

The door opened behind her as she raised her hands to tie her long hair up and there was a gurgle. Why would Brienne make such a noise?

With a frown already on her face, Sansa turned her glare behind her until she squeaked in surprise. Instead of Brienne standing in her doorway it was Sandor who had a pinched expression on his face. Startled she quickly bent and picked her shift back up to try and hide most of her body.

"Uh sorry," he managed turning back. "I'll get the Tarth bitch in."

She didn't know where it came from but from all her ordeals she found that nudity wasn't as much as a shame as it would be considered. Not that she wouldn't be embarrassed if an entire group of men caught her in the nude but…if she had to trust one man, she could trust Sandor.

"Wait," she ordered.

He paused, flicking a look over his shoulder keeping his eyes firmly on her hair. Gods it was more intimidating when he put his eyes on her. Swallowing past her nervousness she turned back to her bath letting her shift fall just as she clambered into the bath.

"Close the door," she sighed as she leaned her head back. "We might as well get comfortable with one another since you're going to be here awhile."

He didn't respond and she hadn't expected him to but she did hear the bang of the door. Pulling the wash cloth to her she began to scrub.

"Little bird," Sandor's voice was strained and she could hear the shifting of his armour. "I may only be a dog but don't forget that I am also a man, this ain't fucking right."

Lolling her head so she could see Sandor she saw him still loitering by the door his back to her.

"Neither was going into a lady's chambers without permission and sitting on her bed," she commented letting the water trickle down her chest, revelling in the warmth. "Or getting her drunk but that happened last night."

He jerked around before he remembered and pivoted back to face the wall, spluttering.

"You want me to just pretend that I didn't hear your fucking screams?" he rasped. "Fat fucking chance if you wanted a working sworn shield."

Sansa examined his back. It was stiff and his feet were evenly paced out.

"My regular ones never came in," she intoned. "Suppose they were used to it by now."

He didn't say anything.

Sighing she pulled herself out of the tub and noticed her towel hanging on the hook by the door. She really needed to remind her maid to leave it by her bath tub. Biting her lip nervously she noticed that she would have to pass him to reach it.

"Could you please pass me my towel?" she asked, undoing the knot on the top of her head.

"Get it yourself," he growled.

Sending her eyes heavenwards praying for patience she stared at the big man's back.

"I can't without exposing my whole body to you again," she tried to reason.

"Great, a treat for me," his feet shuffled.

Certainly he wasn't as composed as he made out to be, she thought with a small smile.

"Says the man who has had his back to me this entire time," she placed her hands on her wet hips. "Clearly you have some problem with my nudity."

Growling, he turned and didn't flinch as he looked at her face or more specifically her eyes. His eyes not making the questing look further south much to her pleasure and slight disappointment. She already felt ugly enough as it was.

"I have no fucking problem with nudity little bird, it's your child body I have a problem with."

"Child?"

Her disbelief was evident especially when the objects of her first blood hung from her chest, and if she were to go by the crude comments men said when she thought her back was turned, they weren't small. She was eighteen years old for Mother's sake! It wasn't like when she went to King's Landing back when she was thirteen. Her exclamation makes his eyes wander and Sansa had a brief moment of embarrassment before she remembered everyone's opinion on the Hound. He was little more than a dog, not worthy of your notice or your embarrassment. But with his eyes raking over her she wished that she hadn't brought up the fact that he didn't seem to care to look at her.

She was not one for vanity but when every male who came into contact with her professed their admiration at her beauty and the ugliest of men would not say the same, well... Not that he was ugly, maybe more…rugged. Rough around the edges with his language.

"Aye, a fucking child," his dark eyes ensnared her again and a hot flush followed down her body until it pooled in her stomach like molten honey. "I've seen cheese more fucking mature than you."

Shifting her feet she was now beginning to feel the frigid cold which pimpled her skin and made her nipples hard enough to cut glass which Sandor seemed to finally notice as he inflated his cheeks angrily. Ripping the towel down from the hook, he chucked it at her.

Fumbling to catch it Sansa was grateful when he turned his back on her again without another word. Her pride had been bashed already. She was just a child in his eyes, an annoying one who had an annoying habit of screaming in her sleep. Gruffly she rubbed her skin dry before picking up her easy access gown, one specifically designed for no maid to attend her. Why should she care of one man's opinion out of thousands?

After the last knots were tied she turned back to her gruff guard. Striding past him she went to begin her hectic day.

She continued the letters that were demanding on her patience and with the headache from the night before, the day dragged especially as more and more reports, none of which were good, she was nearly at her wit's end.

Not to mention Sandor's sullen presence over her shoulder. She couldn't help the shame at her behaviour earlier. What did she want from him? Why should she care of a man's opinion on her body anyway? She had sworn to herself she was not marrying again, she would die a spinster if that's what it took. She even killed the baby that Ramsey put in her so that she would have no connection to that past marriage. Mother grant her mercy, but she could not find it within her to care that she had killed a life when Ramsey had killed her soul.

Even Ramsey always commented on her beauty although it was always followed by the comment afterwards of how he was going to ruin it and her.

Shifting in her seat, Sansa sighed. She wasn't concentrating and usually she would take a nap since that was the only time that she didn't dream but she didn't dare in case it would be an anomaly and she would begin screaming again. She didn't need his help nor any other man's.

"My lady," Sandor grumbled. "I think I heard one of the other lords suggesting that you should do the rounds to check on the progress on the various areas in Winterfell."

Nodding, she shoved her chair out gratefully. Sometimes she really did envy Arya with her prancing around in boys clothing without a care in the world. Speaking of…

"Is Arya causing you any trouble?" she blurted.

Glancing behind her to gauge his expression he gave a cocky smirk.

"The little runt has done nothing my lady," he laughed. "Although she does want to spar constantly with her little fucking toothpick."

Nodding she made the rounds in the bitter wind, just praying everyone would hurry up and finish so she could burrow back in the warmth of her room.

"Bring some food to my room," she ordered a passing servant and continued her quick pace to her room, resisting the urge to rub her hands together.

Ladies did not show weakness in front of the enemy. All around her were frail tethers holding all the houses in the north together and any sign of feeling the cold sinking into her bones and quickening her breath in panic over what could happen, they would break like the ice beneath their feet.

Finally pushing through her door she reserved her sigh of relief for when the door was shut and she finally flopped into her chair by the fire. Her temples ached from all the pins in her hair and not for the first time had she wished that, if it was acceptable for her gender, to shear it all off in the first place. She'd wear a hat, as long as she didn't have to suffer with one more pin stuck by her head.

"You alright little bird?" he asked, his armour clinking behind her.

Swallowing down her resentment from the morning, she rolled her head so she saw his shrewd eyes on her deflated body.

"Fine," she sighed again.

They were both silent to the crackling of the flames.

"Sandor?"

"Yeah?"

"How," Sansa paused, resisting the urge to wring her hands.

She was so stupid, she shouldn't ask him. As if sensing her hesitation Sandor snorted.

"Just chirp your apologies later little bird, what is it?"

Swallowing her nervousness she blurted it out in one hot rush.

"How do you forget about a battle? The people you killed?"

Sandor was silent for a second before he chuckled.

"Drink," he grumbled. "And a nice wet cunt. Sometimes the other way round."

Well, that was expected of him. Blushing she couldn't look him directly in the eye like the little bird he thought she was. Sansa nodded though, her hand shaking as she reached for her goblet of wine.

"I can order your goblet to always be full at dinner," he offered. "To help."

Help with what she didn't need clarification but a little bit warmed inside her at the suggestion. Shaking her head she walked to the window.

"It will go away," she said softly. "It will stop tonight."

Sandor grunted and didn't say anything but she could feel his doubt pounding at her back harder than the hammer at the anvil on the other side of Winterfell.

…o0o…

 _He hitched her skirt higher. She trembled and started sobbing, her fist clenching the sheets. Her heart throbbed and the sweat beaded at her neck where her hair was suffocating her. She couldn't breathe, she didn't want to breathe because passing out would be better than this. Always._

 _There was his chuckle and she bit her lip tasting the blood and wanting to gag. His boots knocked her legs further apart and where she was praying he would end the bruises at her hips he ripped at her hair._

 _Crying out she began to struggle in earnest._

" _PLEASE DON'T DO THIS, YOU DON'T NEED TO I'M SORRY," she sobbed into the covers. "I'M SORRY I'M SORRY PLEASE PLEASE DON'T I BEG OF YOU PLEASE-"_

"LITTLE BIRD!"

Jerking her hand sailed to her assailant's face before it was caught in a strong grip. She gasped and tried to wriggle away. She could scent metal oil and wine. Ramsey smelt of neither. That was the worst part. He only smelt like fresh spearmint and the perfume that the servants chose that day. He was so _clean_. So the wine and death smell was surprisingly…welcome.

Her eyes managed to focus on the reflective surface in front of her but it kept shaking? Why did it keep shaking?

"Sansa!"

It sounded like it was muffled by cotton but last time she checked her hearing was fine. There was pressure on her shoulders. Did she just have a very heavy cloak on? Letting her eyes wander to her shoulders she saw big beefy hands encompassing her shoulders like she was little more than a chicken wing to be broken at the feast.

Dumbly she glanced up to see the Hound's face. His lips were moving behind his beard. She liked his beard, her hand started brushing it with her fingers. It was surprisingly soft, she thought it would be rougher, like the man. The incessant murmuring in her ears stopped and so did Sandor's lips. Good. She could feel his beard in peace. Her hand trailed to the burn feeling the crevasses and the cracks under her fingers. He really wasn't so poor to look at when he stopped talking and scowling.

He jerked away and she saw his lips moving again and he abruptly removed himself from her bed. Without the extra warmth Sansa found herself shivering. Why was she shivering? She was sweating. Boiling. She hadn't been this warm since she was down in the climate by King's Landing.

The memory threatened to overwhelm her until she smelt the familiar spices and saw the steaming cup of mulled wine. Grabbing it without a care she didn't feel the burn as she guzzled. Trails of fire trickled down the sides of her mouth and down her neck to her shift. She couldn't find it within herself to care.

"Another," she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the cup away.

If her Septa could see the way she had fallen she knew that her knuckles would get a firm rapping. But 'pleases', 'thank yous' and 'napkins' seemed a little too formal when your sanity wasn't exactly intact.

The smell of the wine permeated her senses again. She tried to grab and guzzle again but found a larger hand holding her back, allowing her to only take sips. Again there was an incessant low thrum in her ears and realised slowly as more of the drink fell into her system that Sandor was talking.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled.

Her free hand provided a cushion as she propped her elbow on her knee and slumped into her hand. The wine was obviously taking effect because then she would have noticed the way her hand was dwarfed by the large hand that was still regulating her sips.

"Fuck your apologies," he rasped. "You okay?"

Her head automatically went to nod like she had for the entire time since she had escaped Ramsey before the string holding her head upright was cut and found she was shaking her head fighting back her tears.

"Another?" he asked, taking back her cup.

Nodding, she heard him pour and bring it back under her nose. Grateful she tried to spare a wane smile as she sipped a little more daintily with this cup. The smile clearly didn't work as he was still frowning.

Her hand came to his face again. He flinched back but her hand followed like a loyal hound to its master. When her hand traced the burns again she found she was captivated by his nose. How did a fighter like him manage to get away with not one broken nose? Clearly he was exceptional or he was just very lucky. She'd like to have believed it was the former. She traced up the narrow almost aristocratic nose to the frown line.

"I think you would look very nice if you weren't always scowling," she said dreamily devouring his form.

For someone who had killed as much as he with as little 'how do you do' he was surprisingly held together. Not like her. He was built like a weirtree, an oak, all nature ready to bowl you over in an instant of his mood.

"You mean less ugly than I am now, little bird," he hissed, yanking his hand away, standing abruptly.

"I don't think you are ugly," she murmured to the blackness in her cup, her head starting to get fuzzy and flushed.

"Yeah?" he huffed. "That's why you can't look at my fucking face?"

Glancing upwards, Sansa propped herself on her head board as she watched captivated by his chest that rose and fell faster than the incoming tide. What was under that armour? She had seen him training once or twice where he hadn't bothered with the arm plates so she saw his biceps rippling in the sun. He did have very nice arms. Remembering he asked a question she let her eyes drift shut.

"I don't look at your face because I don't like it when you scowl at me," she stated, draining the rest of her cup revelling in the blurry edges of her vision. "Makes me feel like a child."

"Because you _are_ a fucking child," he snapped.

"But I'm eighteen," she drawled, glancing down at herself.

Spying twin trails of red in her white shift she pouted, her finger trailing it to her cleavage where the last of the dark purple was absorbed, picking at the laces holding it together. What she wouldn't give to feel the naked sheets against her skin. As her mind drifted she managed to bring herself back to conversation when her hand traced her breast.

"I mean I have been told they are greater than average," she blinked slowly up at him. "So I find it hard to believe that you see me as a child."

Gesturing to herself she found it hard to keep her balance and slumped back into her pillows with a groan.

"Aye that they may be," he snorted, taking the cup out of her hand. "But when you don't know what to fucking do with them, then you are still a cunting child."

"You feed babies with them, don't you?" she yawned, her head resting a little more comfortably on the pillow.

"Go to sleep, little bird," she heard under the ringing in her ears.

Was the room spinning? She couldn't tell. But the darkness that promised oblivion was welcome and Sansa dived back into the black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Light branded across her vision but Sansa barely had the time to notice as she felt her stomach roiling. Stumbling for her chamber pot she vomited dark red. Rolling back lightheaded, she swallowed another bought of nausea. She could now understand why men were always so irritable after being wine sick.

"My lady?" Sandor called through the door.

She wanted to groan as she remembered last night but any movement, vocal or otherwise would leave her wanting to throw up again. The pounding insisted.

"Little bird?"

He was probably going to persist until she answered but she barely got the time to as Sandor shoved his way in his, his eyes scanning everything until it rested on her prone form and her vomit filled chamber pot.

"Someone feeling a little worse for wear?"

She scowled, drawing her furs higher over her face. What she wouldn't give for the light to disappear and let her fall into oblivion. This was the usual routine for the past couple of weeks. She would get drunk enough that she could sleep and wake up wine sick and unable to do much until midday.

"My lady you have the meeting with the other houses don't you?" he didn't even bother reigning in his amusement at her hiding in her bed.

Sighing, she pushed them back and decided the vertical challenge would be achieved better by slowly emerging from her nest. She groaned clutching her head.

"How do you manage it?" she gurgled, trying not to vomit again.

"More wine," he gruffed.

She glared at him.

"I'm the Queen of the North, I can't be drunk all the time," she snapped.

"Sure you can," he had the audacity to grin. "You're a fucking queen. Robert Baratheon did it."

"And look where that got him," she tried pushing herself to her feet before stumbling back to sit again. "Look where it has me. I have to lead, winter is here."

"Buggar that," he arched a brow. "They can sort themselves out."

Sighing she bit her lip and forced herself to her feet, clumsily untying her laces as she padded to her tub. The steam was still curling but not as much as it would have been if she had approached it when it was being filled. Letting it fall to the floor she heard the rattle and noted that he had turned his back on her again.

What a day to be so ugly that he couldn't look on her.

Settling into the heat she couldn't hold in her moan, the heat a blessing and felt some of her nausea receding. After quickly scrubbing and pouring water over her, she finally managed to stumble out the bath feeling more refreshed. Sandor was already there his back still to her but holding out her towel. Patting herself dry she began rushing through her day.

Through all the meetings and check-ups she had her roiling stomach and hoarded her food for later when she would feel better to eat it. Through the dreary letters her mind ran in circles as she continued to roll through her various tasks. She couldn't be drunk all the time which she stood by but they weren't going away naturally and they were getting worse. Then in a moment of madness when she was feeling particularly ill her mind ran back to what Sandor suggested:

" _Drink," he grumbled. "And a nice wet cunt. Sometimes the other way round."_

The drink wasn't working and as far as she knew she didn't like women that way which meant that she would have to find a man. And finding a man to bed her would be exceedingly difficult now that she didn't trust them talking to her let alone sharing her bed. She _especially_ didn't trust any of the men from the North. She only trusted two people in the world other than her family: Brienne of Tarth and…her eyes slid over to the Hound. Her heart throbbed in her chest along with the blush.

She couldn't, could she? He didn't like her like that as he made abundantly clear and it would be mortifying and demoralising when he rejected her. He was always calling her a little bird, it wasn't exactly the fierce name that her sigil promoted. Like she wouldn't be the one to attack him. She wasn't Arya and maybe that was her downfall.

She sipped her snow melt, still delicate from the morning. The light was already beginning to recede despite it being just after noon. The days were already shortening, darkness would reign and of course they didn't have enough candles to be on constant vigil. Letting her head fall into her hands she briefly revelled in her darkness.

What she wouldn't give for a good night's sleep that _wasn't_ influenced by wine. She glanced at Sandor who was as stiff as usual. She could try surely? Who would he talk to? He was a social pariah among the houses so ate his meals by himself if Brienne did not sit with him. Even she couldn't do that regularlyas they had conflicting schedules what with Brienne teaching the girls to fight and Sandor guarding her.

He was the only man she could trust to not hurt her. To smother her. But the whole issue with her nudity would be a problem. She couldn't pretend that she didn't care but… she stared at his face. It truly wasn't the most horrible thing she had seen and the way it felt beneath her hand wasn't abhorrent. His shoulders were broad. If a woman had seen his body only without his face, he would have been the talk of the court back in King's Landing. She had seen his arms which were brutish and promised that beneath his armour he would be just the same.

His words could use work but she wouldn't be using him for his talking ability.

"My lady?"

Brought out of her musings she saw the way he frowned at her and she soon realised that she was staring. Clearing her throat she brought her cool hand to her hot cheek.

"Sorry, lost in my thoughts," she said, standing.

She wouldn't get any more work done if she didn't try her theory at least. Striding back to her room she couldn't help the way her heart fought to escape her chest up her throat with a little lump. But the price of her humiliation was little in comparison to having a restful night sleep without the nightmares.

She shoved her way into the room and heard Sandor follow, closing the door behind him.

"Lock it," she ordered, her hands sweaty in her gloves.

Picking them off Sansa placed them on the table with her cloak. Gods but her hands were shaking. The lock clicked over. She turned to study him where he was again stiffly guarding her.

"I've tried drinking," she stated, sauntering towards him, careful not to startle him.

He shuffled a little when she stood directly in front of him with only a couple of inches between their chests. Gods he was tall. And aloof. And also scowling again. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf in the wind and her mouth could really use the wine that Sandor had been feeding her over the past couple of weeks.

"Do you remember what you told me?" she asked. "To forget all the bad things you have done?"

Swallowing, Sandor's eyes widened.

"Drinking," he rasped and he paused as he swallowed with a nervous click in his throat. "And a fuck."

Sansa nodded firmly and reached up with her hand to cup his unscarred face. He flinched and tried to back away but she dogged his steps, her blood racing under her skin, adrenaline pumping through her heart. Her breath quickened. Wine and metal oil. Not the scent of the knights in the songs but it was better. It was more real because he was better.

"I am ready to try the latter," she breathed.

And before he could pull away fully, she pushed herself to her tiptoes and yanked his head down.

She had never kissed a man before without it being stolen so she didn't really know what to do. Her lips remained firm against his despite Sandor going still as stone. She could feel his beard rasping against her sensitive skin and couldn't find it within herself to be disgusted. If anything the little prickles made her flush hotter and there was her core that felt like it was burning.

Finally as if he came to his senses, Sandor wrenched himself away.

"What the fuck was that?" he snarled.

Hurt flooded through her.

"I just-I just thought-" she started.

"Thought what?" he yelled as he stumbled further away from her grasp. "That you'll play with the dog, play with the animal because of course he'd be down for a fuck."

"That _maybe_ I should try the only man that I trust not to ruin me!" she snapped back, her feet following him until his back was on the wall beside to the door. "That if I had to-to-to do _that_ with I would choose you!"

He stood there the scowl on his face his mouth opening and closing furiously.

"I," he stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm going to guard outside, call if you need anything."

With that he dashed out the room, slamming the door behind him.

It had now been a week since the _conversation_ and Sansa was closer than ever to losing her sanity. She stopped drinking her way to slumber. After those couple of weeks of taking his alcohol for sleep, she was now too scared to even close her eyes. Instead she just embroidered, knitted, sewed anything to keep her mind off the nightmares and his rejection of her.

Sandor didn't even bother looking at her anymore unless directly addressed. He didn't come into her room but that was because she was too ashamed to sleep when he was on watch because that would force him to come in and stop her screaming and then she would be reminded by the fact that she was so ugly that even _he_ couldn't want her.

If he saw the black bags beneath her eyes he didn't say anything. He was now stoic to her, not even saying 'little bird', narrowing his responses to 'yes', 'no' and 'my lady'. He even lost his profanities which she never thought she would miss. Steadily her embroidery declined in quality, and her input in meetings waned and her usually broad hips were now bony with her diminished appetite. She succumbed to drinking once but found that she was even more wine sick the next day that it defeated the objective of sleeping.

She was in her room in the third week, her fingers pricked to high heavens, the blood staining the scraps of cloth she had taken for distraction when suddenly the door slammed open.

Alarmed she jerked up and there was Sandor, the scowl that had been absent for most of the weeks finally back. He shut it just as quick and strode over to her. Sansa flinched back in her seat but he didn't care. Hoisting her over his shoulder she barely had time to protest before she landed on her bed with a grunt.

Glaring up at him only to see his arms folded which reminded her of an angry parent with a misbehaving child.

"Sleep," he ordered.

"I _can't_ ," she exclaimed.

Rolling, she tried to stand again but he pushed her back down.

"I'll get you wine."

"I don't _want_ wine," she all but snarled.

If only her mother could see her now, she would be rolling in her grave.

"Then just sleep without it!" he snarled back.

Blinking back the tears of frustration she wanted to continue fighting but she didn't have the energy and she didn't want to go back to the nightmares now that they could be appeased by drinking.

"Please," she mumbled pitifully. "Please I-I know I'm horrible to look at for you but please-"

"It may not even fucking work, little bird," he huffed, his hands thrown into the air. "Why would you want to tarnish yourself only for it to not fucking work?"

Anger reared its ugly head again.

"Tarnish? You tarnish me?" she laughed bitterly. "In case you haven't heard every night but I was tarnished _long_ before you came along."

Sandor stopped, his mouth hanging open.

"Get out," she pointed at the door not bothering to glare at his face.

Would the humiliation ever end?

"Sleep," though the order this time was gentler.

Then she heard the door click shut gently.

Flopping on her back she couldn't help the way her muscles relaxed into the plush furs and mattress. She felt sleep drifting over her even though there was a part in the back of her mind that was screaming to stay awake. There was the slight bit of dread but she was overcome by the wave before she could even come up for air.

…o0o…

Yawning again, Sansa bit back the tears both from tiredness and from the horrors every night. They were back with a vengeance and any lie that she told herself about them disappearing clearly was untrue as they were, if at all possible, more vivid that she remembered.

His hands were more bruising, her throat was raw from her screams and her eyes were constantly puffy. She couldn't tell what was worse, sleep deprivation or sleep horrors. She was walking on the walkway when a wave dizziness flooded over her. Stumbling to the wall, she tried to use it to support herself but found it was drifting from side to side. Sansa slid to the floor.

"Little bird?" a muffled voice asked.

She wanted to respond but with the bees buzzing in her ears and the tiny firelights flashing in her vision she could barely concentrate. A heavy arm supported her weight. Her mouth tried to fumble a thank you but found suddenly that it was filled with marbles making it difficult to do anything.

As her legs left the ground her eyes were gazing up at the wooden beams above her head with a particularly scarred face looking down at her, frowning like usual.

Letting her eyes drift close she woke suddenly refreshed tucked in her bed. Sansa pushed herself upright to see the Maester staring down at her.

"How are you feeling my lady?" he asked kindly, closing a book.

"Fine," she rubbed her head. "How did I get here?"

"The Hound said that you fainted when you were walking back to your room," he creakily stood up. "It is only sleep deprivation which other than lavender under the pillow there isn't much else I can offer."

"What about milk of the poppy?" she blurted, her legs swinging out of the comfort of her bed.

The oblivion would be better than anything. She had it once when Robb pushed her over and broke her wrist. Surely it could work again this time but when the Maester frowned down at her her hopes deflated.

"No, my lady," he said. "That is too addictive to use to let a lady sleep."

Nodding, she stared down at her hands, hot tears pressing in at the corner of her eyes. The Maester paused.

"These will pass my lady," he said. "Now eat the broth and you'll feel better."

Sansa barely spared him a look as he shuffled to the door. Standing she walked to the window to stare at the blankness outside. It must have been nice. Something so white, so fresh, it could contain her oblivion. If only she didn't have the responsibilities of being born a Stark. Not for the first time she cursed being born to a noble house, playing a game of thrones was a constant task.

The door opened again. Glancing over her shoulder she noted that it was Sandor before she continued to stare outside at the white. That was until she heard the lock tumble over.

Jerking back in time to gape as Sandor unbuckled all his armour quickly. She couldn't do much but stare. What was he doing? Not that she didn't appreciate it because she noticed the way his tunic was too tight on his chest and the woman in her weakened.

After he was in his peasant clothes again he strode over to her. She didn't have the time to feel alarmed before she was in his warm arms and his lips descended on hers. He swallowed down her gasp, his mouth roving on hers and, like the first time she tried to seduce him, the molten fire that was banked in her blood, flared. Wrapping her hands behind his neck she dragged him closer, moaning. His arms tightened enough that she panicked she wouldn't be able to breathe but revelled in his burly closeness.

Her hips collided with his where she felt his manhood, hard for her. Blushing, she tried not to think which was easier than she thought as Sandor's beard rasped against her chin, warming her more. His lips left hers, kissing beneath her jaw, his hair tickling her as he subtly grinded himself into her. Her whole body thrummed under his attention and her fingers changed to claws with her passion.

"Sandor, what-?" she tried to ask but found that his teeth nipped her lightly on her neck.

Not like Ramsey where he drew blood but a nibble like a rabbit that sent her head spinning and her knees trembling. Backing away he stared hard down at her, frowning and serious.

"I'll fuck you," he declared as he bent down, grabbing her bottom in his large hands, hoisting her up and against him. She squeaked. "But don't fucking blame me if I break you."

She gasped as he directed them to the bed. His hardness grinded against her and for once she felt a hot pit in her small clothes that was only antagonised with his hardness rubbing against her. She moaned, burying her face in his neck embarrassed. Where were all these noises coming from?

Not that she exactly had time to dwell as he backed into the bed, letting her straddle him as his hands roamed, stoking the heat beneath her skin. Sansa grabbed both sides of his face wanting what he was doing with his mouth, which was more experienced than her terrible attempt at seducing him. He opened his mouth for her immediately and she let her lips caress his, revelling in his taste. The first man who could kiss her and not make her feel suffocated, trapped.

She knew she could climb off his lap at any time and he wouldn't chuck her to the bed, pounding her into the mattress, covering her screams anyway. A bout of cold water trickled down her spine until one of Sandor's broad hands trailed down it, the heat of his palm making its way through her dress, his hand finally resting on the small of her back, his fingers flirting with her bottom.

Arching into him she began to participate with vigour. Running her hands to his abdomen she shuffled his shirt up, trying to keep his hot lips on hers until the last possible moment where she parted only to yank his shirt over his head. Devouring his lips again, Sansa shuffled on his lap, gasping at the friction pausing for only a second for the exquisite sensation.

There was a rumble beneath her frantic hands as Sandor made his pleasure known. That and his hand that was not on her bottom was chastely on her waist until he boldly cupped her breast. She blushed but pushed her chest into it, wriggling more on his lap. This was probably what he meant by she didn't know what to do with her breasts. If she had known there was pleasure to be brought to her through his caress she would have tried to seduce him earlier.

As if the encouraging noises she made from his touch was a trigger, the animal in him was released. He yanked at the cords holding her dress together until it pooled at her waist. The cool air on her skin was a relief until his mouth covered her nipple. Gasping, her hands grabbed the back of his neck, first to push him away but when his hot tongue roved, she did it to keep him there. She felt his arm moving beneath her but when darts of pleasure went to her core, heating it even more, she let her head arch back, closing her eyes to live in the pleasure.

That was until she felt the cold on her bare legs and a large hand on her thigh, his thumb caressing her inner thigh. Sansa jerked but moaned and pressed herself closer. Again he was so unlike Ramsey that she couldn't believe that she was letting another man touch her like this.

When she thought she would melt into a puddle Sandor finally released her nipple lifting her before dumping her back on her bed, her bottom in the air where he wasted no time in rucking her skirt above her hips and yanking her small clothes down. His calloused hand smoothed its way down one buttock while she felt his breeches rough against her skin. There was the rustle of clothing and she didn't like the pause because then her mind began to wander to places that shouldn't be thought of when Sandor was distracting her well enough until that moment. A hot mouth touched against her womanhood and she jerked forward, squeaking but while his hands were restraining on her hips she found she could still wiggle forward and away which was what she was planning on doing until she felt his tongue on her.

Like a flaming sword shoved up through her womanhood and into her chest, her arms that were supporting her flopped forward as her body began to twitch. She didn't know that people could go down there but she wasn't going to question when her muscles liquidated like chocolate under the hot sun. Sansa bit into the cover when her moans were getting louder. He was doing this as a favour and she managed to be decently attractive for him to get hard, it was nothing more than that. His hands continued to stroke her bottom, his breath cooling her until he began his ministrations again.

She was flushed with the hottest fever and it spread everywhere until even her littlest toes were twitching with the pleasure. It was burning hotter and hotter and she wanted to see what happened when it combusted. Panting and grinding herself backwards she was rewarded when Sandor growled and the thumbs that were holding her open then dipped into her.

Arching back Sansa couldn't bite the furs anymore and arched back, crying out. The heat wave pulsed through her body and found that she was clenching around nothing, wanting more wanting something else. Was this what Shae meant about the marriage bed sometimes being a pleasurable experience? Her eyes fluttered as the tiredness liquidated her muscles as well but then she felt something smooth against her bottom. She gasped and before she knew it, grinded herself back.

Ramsey used to do that but only to let her know that it was coming, not letting herself prepare for the entry.

"Still wanna fuck?" Sandor growled in her ear, his thumb that entered her rubbing soothing wet circles.

Nodding into the covers, Sansa peered over her shoulder to see him rugged but his cheeks flushed, his breeches still on, only parted enough to release himself. Her eyes widened he, he was… _huge_. Way bigger than Ramsey, would that even fit in her? It wouldn't be able to right?

"Don't worry little bird, I'll go slow," he reassured.

Her panic abated a moment and she felt Sandor press against her. Swallowing down her panic she tried to push back a little. It hurt but found that she was wet enough to let him in. It was novel that he didn't have to make her bloody to get any pleasure from it. The man behind her groaned loud with his desire. She buried her smile knowing that he would probably get grumpy with her but she couldn't help that at least he was getting something out of this.

Half way through she started to resist and found it painful, fisting her hands in the furs. He stilled. She clenched around the intrusion but found that she arched herself back for more.

"You okay?" his voice sounded strained.

Nodding Sansa again peeked over her shoulder seeing his face contorted in concentration his eyes clenched shut.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Are you?"

He peeked open one eye and gave a strained chuckle.

"Fucking of course," he grunted, sliding a little deeper in her and she moaned a little. "Your cunt is as tight as a fucking virgin's."

Unintentionally while she cringed at his wording, at his praise she clenched a little and he groaned longer.

"Little bird, please," he grunted. "You are so wet and tight."

"You can do," she swallowed down a moan as the molten pool of fire was stoked as more of him slid in her. It burned at the edges but it was helping her muscles relax again. "What you want to me."

"Little bird," he warned.

"Please," she pushed herself back again.

And like the dog obeying the master the Hound lost it.

Sansa shoved her hands into the furs tighter so she wouldn't be pounded to the other side of the room and the _pleasure_ and the _friction_ she never felt anything like it. Her gasps and breathy moans along with Sandor's swears were the only the sounds in addition to the slaps as he thrusted into her. His hands were on her hips and every couple of rough thrusts she panicked thinking it was Ramsey before Sandor would grunt her name and in that guttural voice, rasping his pleasure to her was intoxicating that she had such an effect on him.

Pleased she let her own moans come out, praising him and tightening further as she could feel the little bubble inside her wanting to pop and flood her with pleasure. He began to get jerky but one hand pressed into her lower back holding her still while he pounded into her with the fury of a man who had not had his wife in a decade.

Swallowing her scream she settled for a whine as the ball of flame engulfed her, way better than when his mouth was on her. Boneless it was not long until Sandor had spilled inside her, his hands spanning her waist.

They both gasped in the silence and Sansa, though she wanted to talk with him, found her eyes were drifting closed, relief in her entire body and a little bit of happiness. She didn't even notice when the man behind her pulled her skirt the rest of the way down and picked up her limp body to tuck her into the bed. Blearily she saw when he picked up her soup and bread and brought them over to her.

She smiled at him sleepily, her hand cupping his unburnt face. He stiffened before he relaxed pushing the bowl in her hands.

"Thank you, Sandor," she whispered, her voice scratchy.

He shrugged, a scowl coming back onto his face.

"Don't frown so," he finger traced the little frown line. "You almost looked happy for a moment."

He grabbed her finger. Her face fell.

"Sorry," she said, now more awake and a little sad that she seemed to make him so unhappy. "I-Thank you for doing that even though I'm just your lady and it probably wasn't-"

"Fuck that," he grunted, releasing her finger. "I came so hard I'm surprised if I'll be able to walk after this."

Blushing she tried to hide her smile but failed miserably.

"Did it work?" he asked, taking a large bite out of her bread.

She cocked her head to the side questioningly.

"The fuck, did it work like you think it would?" he explained a slight smirk coming onto his face when hers remained blank.

Flushing to the deep roots of her hair, she nodded.

"I can now understand why you would want to do that after a fight," she twisted a lock of her red hair. "That-that was nice."

"Just nice?" Sandor arched and eyebrow dusting his hands of the breadcrumbs. "I wasn't doing it right then."

If anything all the blood flooded to her face, ears and neck and she grabbed his wrist gently.

"Um, it was uh," she cleared her throat and stared into those dark eyes of his. "It was very good, thank you."

He snorted and stood, tying up his breeches and leaning down for his shirt.

"Eat, little bird," he shrugged into his shirt.

It was strangely intimate to watch him get dressed again watching as all that bare skin that she had stroked and caressed slowly being covered again on the shapeless tunic where only his breeches showed his muscled bottom. Deep down inside here where she was still flushed from his attentions she liked it when she saw the way his biceps clenched under his shirt and that he was so muscled under there. After strapping his armour back on Sandor nodded to her, heading for the door.

"Wait," she called.

He stopped, arching a look at her, the burnt side of his face not making any movement.

"If," she brushed her mussed hair behind one ear. "If it was acceptable to you, and it worked, I would like-like to do _that_ again."

"Fuck?" he clarified.

"Do you have to be so crude?"

He shrugged.

"Just being honest." He rubbed his beard, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. "Ah fuck it, sure."

It wasn't described as it was in the songs but that was okay, because for the first time since Ramsey's death she thought that she could be okay.

...o0o...

 **Sooooooo this is my first San/San fiction I would really appreciate it if you guys reviewed and told me how I'm doing e.g. are they staying in character because I really have no idea what I am doing. I mean even if you enjoyed the sex scene or didn't constructive criticism is desired even if you think that it is rubbish and shouldn't have graced the internet with its presence, I'll take that under advisement.**

 **If you think this pairing is weird l'd really suggest going on YouTube and look for the top ten reasons SanSan is going to happen.**

 **Thanks for reading let me know what you think!**

 **xx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

For once when Sansa napped she didn't have a single nightmare. She was worn to the bone and just drifted to a dreamless sleep and when she woke up she was awake because she wasn't tired anymore and not because of a single nightmare. Waking up naked was a novelty as well, feeling the furs caress her body just reminded her of Sandor. Blushing she quickly refreshed herself and dressed into the gown that was still abandoned on the floor much to her chagrin.

Approaching the door her hands fluttered nervously. How would Sandor treat her when she stepped passed that door? Probably with the same disgust and usual swears but she could handle it. At least she hoped. She breathed in. Out. She could do this. She strode to the door and opened it.

Sandor blinked down at her and said nothing.

Nodding she continued walking to her work that she had let pile up for after her afternoon excursions. For the first time she managed to give her whole attention to the papers in front of her and completed tasks faster than she had previously, being sleep deprived as she was.

As it was, while she hurt between her legs she couldn't help but think of Sandor. Not once did her eyes cut to his to watch him but she hoped that she would have him in her bed for when she went to sleep because she could honestly say to herself that if she had intercourse with him, she _knew_ she wouldn't have the nightmares ever again.

She almost wanted to rush through her dinner but with the lords and their complaints she couldn't rush loyalty especially with how she had acted for the past few weeks but no matter. She was better than ever. It could wait despite the impatient tapping of her feet.

Finally after everything was addressed she tried to keep her walk measured but even a blind person could tell that she was moving faster than a lady should but she couldn't care less when she was waiting for the second time she would be able to go to sleep. As she opened the door and Sandor didn't immediately follow after her she called him in. As he stepped through the doorway he locked the door without having to be asked.

Awkwardly she tried untying her cords but her hands kept shaking. Was she more nervous about this than she first thought? There was a harrumph in front of her before bigger hands now took over, easily maybe even eagerly taking over until her dress pooled at her feet. That was wishful thinking but when she peeked up at his eyes they were already on her, his dark eyes hot on hers. She tried steadying her breathing but when he began unbuckling the various straps of his armour, she had to help if only so she wasn't left bare alone for long.

After the last of the metal clattered to the ground and he was left in his tunic and breeches they both stood there. She could smell the metal oil and the wine from dinner. His eyes were staring at her and she for once could see the hunger in them and it wasn't for food. She licked her lips and that was what set him off.

Yanking on her hips she collided with his hard frame and manhood. She was already meeting him halfway as she looped her hands around his neck dragging him down so her needy lips could meet his in an absorbing kiss.

While Sansa was tall for her gender, clearly she was too short for Sandor as without a warning he hitched her up and collided her soft body against his unyielding muscles. Compared to earlier where she had on a heavy dress she was now free to tangle her legs behind him, grinding herself with his pace. Moaning against his lips, she wriggled happily in his arms, any former embarrassment now gone.

And any reservations that Sandor might have had seemed non-existent because now his hands clenched into her bottom with a need and passion that she thought was absent from him. Her head bowed back as everywhere in her body flamed like it was the peak of summer and not the beginning of winter.

They wasted no time in getting to the bed where Sandor continued to remind her why his ideas on how to forget the past were phenomenal and incredibly insightful of him. She caved into the bed as his tongue played havoc with her internal temperature and his hands got better acquainted with parts of her body that she thought was owned by her husbands' only.

Gasping she didn't pull her hands back when she held the back of his head to her. Never before had she felt so fulfilled since before King's Landing. Sandor didn't even flinch like he usually did when she touched his face. The feel of the burn on the side of his head was rough but his hair was surprisingly silky beneath her hands and when she let her hand clench in the remaining bits of hair he groaned against her which tightened her legs. Gasping she keened as she felt herself about to implode.

With a last few flicks of his tongue Sansa lifted one of her hands to cover her mouth as she muffled her scream, her body pulling taut as a bowstring. Relaxing back down she barely had time before she was flipped over and Sandor was at her entrance and hammering into her.

So sensitive was Sansa that she felt sparks flickering through her body like stars and she could feel the build up again so soon making her fingers flinch into the furs. She couldn't support herself and tried to anchor herself by grabbing Sandor's hip behind her which just seemed to increase his fury as he continued to pleasure her until she found that the familiar wave of heat eclipsed over all her senses as she felt him spill within her again.

He collapsed on her back, panting with his exertion. Usually she would feel suffocated by any man who placed himself so close to her but with the hair on his chest rubbing deliciously against her back she wriggled happily, keeping her hand against his hip, letting her fingers rub soothing circles on Sandor's partially exposed skin.

To his credit he didn't stiffen which was a relief to her ego, she wasn't sure how much more rejection she could take about her supposed beauty. She tried not to moan as she felt him slip out but purred as Sandor picked her up and placed her in the bed, beginning to turn away. She didn't know why she did it but she could only blame it on the fact that she was still hazy with the afterglow.

"Stay."

His panicked expression said it all which she swallowed down her embarrassment.

"Just until I fall asleep." She reassured although a little part of her cowed back into submission inside her.

He paused. His eyes darted to his clothes and armour and then back to her. She could see duty winning and somewhere within, she did not know where, she let her other arm escape the furs letting them pile in her lap, letting her breasts come to show. Sansa heard his swallowed groan as she grabbed his other arm pulling him to her.

Her heartbeat throbbed in her chest and found that she was trying to calm the way her body flared at his touch. She slid her legs outside of the furs so her legs bracketed his and placed his hands on her breasts.

"I can see you want to," she breathed nervously.

"Of course I fucking want to," he growled, his hands clenching a little. "You are fucking pretty little bird with the perkiest teats I've ever seen and the wettest cunt I've ever had."

Despite the crass wording she had to smile.

"I'm pretty?"

She stood so they were squeezed together and finally let go of his hands, letting her own travel up his muscled arms until she rested her hands on his hairy chest, letting the hairs abrade her palms. Sandor snorted.

"Even a Septon would break his vows for you," he sneered down at her. "You don't need a dog's opinion to fucking know that."

His hands started to loosen and for a panicked moment she thought he was going to let her go. She really wanted a warm body to sleep next to that night…maybe only his. Sansa slid her hands so they were on his neck, pressing her bare body against his. For a moment he stiffened that she thought he wouldn't return it but he gripped her hips tugging her the last inch that their bodies were pressed together. She blushed but refused to look away from his eyes knowing that it was important that he knew how significant it was that he was holding her.

This was a novelty. She had never been this close to another human being. She could see all his scars, see the stab wounds. Sansa's hand trailed down to trace one of the more ugly ones. She barely had the time to caress it before it was caught and she was tumbled back to the sheets, his lips against hers.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders she giggled as he pressed his kisses lower and his beard tickled her. He reared back with a glare and she tried to smother her smile but failed as she played with his beard instead.

"This tickles," she whispered, she smirked, bringing his lips to hers.

"I think that's the first time I've seen you fucking smile since I've got to this frost forsaken place," he commented as their lips finally parted.

Sansa frowned and pulled away.

"I smile," she said.

Smirking, he slid a hand that was on her bare hip up to her waist. She gasped, arching into his hard body.

"Nah you fucking don't," his lips over took her ear lobe and her hips flinched upwards even though she wanted to be annoyed.

Chuckling, Sandor continued to wreak havoc on her until finally sated, they collapsed and with her back to the sworn shield, he had one hand cupping her breast and the other tucked and curled under her neck.

…o0o…

Waking up alone had become the norm but she found that after past month spent in Sandor's arms, Sansa felt a little…lonely. Since that first night she was used to seeing Sandor standing outside her room where she would then begin the day only praying for it to be evening already so she could be wrapped up back in his arms. The only waking up alone and thinking wistfully after his warm body.

Then the whole cycle would begin again.

And the worst thing about it was that Sandor seemed to be fulfilling her commands out of duty or pity. She could take rage and duty as a power play but she couldn't take pity. Anything but that. She asked once why he left her bed so soon after she slept and he responded that it was his duty first to guard her. Covering her disappointment and rejection by quickly burying herself beneath the furs, she refused herself her favourite past time of staring at him when he dressed again.

And she really hated missing the show.

Glancing to the window Sansa was surprised at how bright it was. Usually when Brienne guarded her she woke her in time to start writing back to the various lords so she finished in time for dinner. She swung her legs out, her bare feet wary to touch the cold stone but brave it she did.

Hopping over to the steaming tub, she couldn't believe she slept through the racket of filling the tub. She stripped down and sunk into the warmth with a sigh. The one good thing about her days was the bath tub where after her body tensing and jerking from the nightmares finally eased in the hot water. But after rounds of intercourse, it was nice easing the bruised limbs from Sandor's pleasurable man-handling. She blushed when she thought of last night with his large hands combing through her hair.

There was a banging at her door.

"Lady Sansa?" a masculine voice called. "Your attention is needed."

Her attention was always needed, she reclined her head back, it wasn't anything new, she thought closing her eyes again.

"It can wait," she called back, smoothing the water over her arms with the lavender oil.

"I'm 'fraid it can't," her guard called back.

Where was Brienne? Usually she would be the one to talk through the door to her about urgent matters of business.

"It's Ser Clegane, he just brawled with Lady Brienne out of nowhere," his voice was tense.

Dread picked up in her stomach and quickly finished off her bath and dressed in record time. Opening the door abruptly to a young guard she stared at him stonily.

"Take me to see him," she ordered striding out into the cold.

What on earth could have possessed him? She thought he would do alright since they got most of their aggression in the fight to be her sworn shield? Brienne didn't deliberately antagonise so what quarrel could Sandor have with her?

She couldn't help the shiver that travelled down her back although to any of the other lords her back would be as straight as usual. Sandor was almost caring despite his brutish words, like he actually cared so why would he start a fight with Brienne?

Opening the door to the cells, she swallowed down her gasp.

Brienne gave as good as she got. The Hound's face was bloody, a large gash cutting through his good eyebrow, the blood long since congealed. His eyes were puffy but his nose looked still intact. He was crumpled on the wall opposite the cell door. Nodding to the guard to open the door she delicately steeped through the portal waiting to see if she got a reaction. Nothing.

Sandor rolled his head back to support itself on the wall behind him.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"The fuck does it matter?" he snarled.

"Of course it matters," she snapped back, striding forward so she was hovering over him. "You have been here for months and yet you suddenly decide to beat up Brienne? That doesn't make any sense!"

"Buggar sense, just punish me and be done with it," he growled.

"No," she resisted the urge to stomp her foot but found the energy, barely. "You are going to tell me why you did this."

He flipped his hair over his burn further and glared at the other wall leaving her to stare at the good side of his face.

"I'm not leaving," she reiterated, folding her arms. "So you might as well save both of us the trouble of sitting in the cold."

Rolling his eyes to glare at her, he shuffled to his feet. Even though he was towering over her, he didn't scare her anymore. She was used to the bluster and found that it was little more than a breeze if tempered right.

"Fucking hell girl," he snarled. "You don't need me anymore. I've done my duty now put me down."

Her hand smacked his cheek before she realised what had happened. Then the second thought was how he allowed her to hit him. Why? What did he have to gain from her hitting him?

"Your duty," she declared, "is over when _I say_ it is over not over some-some _tantrum_ in the sparring ring!"

"What of the Tarth bitch's duty?" he roared. "Where _the fuck_ was she for her duty?"

Blinking, she stared up at him dumbly but he wasn't finished.

"What duty was she performing while you were here with that Ramsey bastard?" he slammed the side of his fist to the wall. "Where was _her duty_ when you were getting fucked over by him!"

Where her heart began to harden thinking the worst about Sandor melted. His chest was heaving and reminded her of a couple nights before except it was bare and she was boneless in his arms. How she wanted to embrace him but with spies even in Winterfell, she had to exercise caution. Still she could hopefully get away with this.

Placing her hand on his left cheek, her thumb on his burnt side making indentations, she yanked him back to look at her.

"Nothing," she breathed. "But Ramsey is dead. Brienne has paid her debt ten times over guarding me every night and hearing me. But I don't scream anymore, do I?"

Sandor glared at their feet.

"And I have you to thank for-" she swallowed past the lump in her throat, "for doing your duty and while you cannot go unpunished, you can't die on me yet."

She turned her stern stare up to his sullen one.

"Is that understood Ser?"

He continued to glower at their feet but she managed to catch the small flicker of a smile took over his mouth.

"I'm no fucking Ser."

Sansa beamed. No, he wasn't but she was glad because he was the closest thing to the knights in the songs even if he didn't want to admit it.

"You are to spend a month with the hunting crew and," she lowered her voice and Sandor had to lean in to hear. "You are to spend every night in my bed from dusk to dawn."

Blushing she stood back but there was no regrets as there was a new light in his eyes that wasn't there before in the whole time he was in Winterfell.

"I fully expect you to fulfil your promises to me," she stated.

"Don't worry," he murmured as he passed her. "I'm sure I'll fill something later."

She swallowed her gasp but the blush that she thought had disappeared around him reappeared with a vengeance. Trying to slow her throbbing heart she followed after him but turned to her office rather than the hunters. Sore with a headache she was looking forward to that night. Her palms were sweaty. An entire night with Sandor in her bed.

If she were to ask herself that she would be in intimate relations with the Hound a few months ago she would have had them run through for their insolence. However, she smiled a little to herself, since he had been in her bed she could say that the nightmares had all but dissipated though she didn't want to tell Sandor that in case he left. He was warm and despite his gruff demeanour he had a heart somewhere underneath all the blood he spilled but she didn't care. It wasn't _hers_ that he had spilt.

She tried not to look like she was hurrying to her room but she couldn't fool herself and pretend that she wasn't excited by his arms encircling her, that she wasn't the happiest she had been since she made the dreadful error of wanting to be Joffery's wife.

Pushing open the door her hopes were dashed when she just saw the fire crackling lonely in the room. Bidding her guards goodnight and the express orders to let Sandor pass to guard in her room, she sighed and closed the door. Sansa contemplated staying up to wait but with the hard day's work and the oncoming headache she thought she would settle in her bed. Stripping her gown and leaving various components fall where they may, she clambered into the bed naked, snuggling into the furs.

Yawning she thought she could close her eyes for a moment.

Clearly only a second had passed before she woke with the cold air entering her duvet. Someone was there. Wide awake she was prepared to claw at their eyes if they so much as touched her but then the familiar grunt of Sandor getting comfortable and then the wine scent with metal oil and relief flooded through her.

Sansa frowned. He was lying down very far away, wasn't he? Rolling towards him she searched out for his warm skin. Sandor jerked when her hand lifted his arm to place it around her while her head lay on his chest and her other hand lay over his heart. For good measure she tangled her feet with his until she hissed.

"Why are your feet so cold?" she shivered and snuggled closer.

"Just got in from the snow," he punished her by rubbing her feet with his.

She swallowed a squeal and tried to put up a fight but found that in the dimmed firelight that Sandor was the victor and lay above her. Sliding her hand up his abdomen she smiled despite losing. If this was one battle she had to lose to win the war then so be it.

A few seconds passed with him just staring at her and her smile dimmed. Had she done something wrong? She went to pull his head down however he surprised her and took the first initiative. In a hot, wet kiss Sandor dominated with a tyrannical rule, his forearm propped on the pillow supporting her head and the other already tracing her curves.

Arching when his thumb circled her nipple she spread her legs further so he could settle where he was supposed to be. Sansa was prepared for him to slide in, push himself passed her boundaries taking his pleasure when he realised the week before that she didn't need gentle anymore. But with one final kiss Sandor settled on his back beside her.

Following she placed herself where in the crook of his arm, her mind racing and her womanhood wet and waiting. She shifted a couple of times finding it difficult to find a comfortable position when her body was so hot and bothered. Was she finally not attractive enough anymore? No, he was hard for her for this past month and though all the bones in her body wanted to deny it, the fervour and hunger in his gaze definitely was of a man desiring a woman. Her.

Sandor chuckled. Sansa shoved onto her elbow, glaring down at him until she saw his grin. He never grinned. Not unless it was at one of his crass jokes or someone died. The indignant words that were in her throat dried up at that smile. Gods but if he smiled like that all the time the women of Westeros would not be able to keep their hands to themselves. He curled back her hair behind one ear.

"Sorry my queen," he teased, his other arm coming to stroke down her back. "I ain't as spritely as a young lass like you."

If he kept smiling at her like that she wouldn't even exist in the next moment if he wasn't careful.

"I _suppose_ I could slow down for you," she mused. "But I find it very difficult to sleep without my loyal dog in my bed."

He arched his eyebrow.

"And where would this dog have to lie exactly?" his voice lowered and the hand that held her to his chest trailed somewhere a little less decent.

"Preferably be-between my-my legs," she stuttered, her cheeks hot but eyes steady on his.

The Hound burst out laughing, his chest rumbling beneath her chin.

"My, that would be a fucking uncomfortable sleeping position," he drawled

Rolling her eyes in frustration she turned to her side with her back to him. She didn't need to have him that night anyway. Who did he think he was mocking her? He should have been grateful that she was letting him anywhere near her bed.

"Well, there wouldn't be much sleeping going on, I _assure you_ ," she shot over her shoulder primly.

If it had been a few months ago Sandor would have retreated, his tail between his legs with a few choice growls to let his feelings known. Now however, his hand pressed on her core making her gasp as he used that to yank her so his manhood settled into her backside and her back pressed to his rough chest.

"I think the pretty bird is not singing songs because she has not been fed," he purred, smug, in her ear.

She wanted to deny it but Sansa knew he didn't begin insinuating statements like that without a _very_ good conclusion. She tried to roll over but the hand that was still cupping her mound held her still. A spark lit in her but she tried to pretend that she wasn't as invested in what he was going to say next.

"See I don't think I could sleep," he continued his beard rasping against the back of her neck. "Without checking on my favourite wet cunt."

And there was the mood ruined. She wanted to sigh but knew that would only set him off. While she knew he was no knight singing soft words of poetry, the least he could do was stop making her feel like the Prostitute of Winterfell, assuming she would take such language in her stride. She pouted and when she went to tell him, she soon forgot anything that was currently in his brain when his fingers pressed against her wet entrance.

She knew there should have been some embarrassment over being so ready for a man who was not her lawful husband but as he rubbed against her, a whine began deep within her throat. Sansa's hips pressed back against his crotch but Sandor focussed his attention on pressing kisses along her shoulder blades making her shiver as his fingers continued to caress her most intimate parts. She didn't even know that a couple could do something like this but as she burned and her eyes fluttered closed she found she could get used to this. _Very_ used to this.

Sansa twitched and moaned into the pillow trying to roll on her front to muffle some of her noises to the guards outside of her door. Sandor wouldn't let her far as he followed, half his body on her back with a muscled leg shoved between hers, forcing her to stay open. His hand was still firmly in place and his hot breath still on the back of her neck, pressing her into the mattress with some welcome protective weight.

"Gods but if I could fuck you hard into the mattress right now," he growled. "And that you could fucking scream out that pretty voice of yours for anyone to give a shit about. Get the old Maester hard as rocks, the Septon, those speckly fucking children just staring after you."

She gasped, a bead of sweat trickling down her neck. Flushed and her insides twitching she really wished for him to stick in something and like the gods answered her prayers he slid a finger into her and her legs shook with unreleased energy. Finding nothing to grab except his arm she held on as she shuddered her release.

Withdrawing his hand Sansa didn't think much of it until she heard slurping. She jerked around to see that Sandor was sucking each one of his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. Flushing a deep shade of red, he laughed hard when he saw her scandalised expression.

"I believe I've tasted it from the source, little bird," he chuckled, banding his arms around her in a warm embrace. "I think this is hardly the fucking time to suddenly get shy."

Sansa batted his chest keeping her eyes lowered. He could say what he liked but she could still get bashful when he talked like that. Placing a finger under her chin he tugged her up to meet his mouth for a quick kiss.

"Now we have to fucking sleep, little bird," he mumbled, unintentionally nuzzling his face into her forehead. "Because someone set me with the busiest fucking people in all of Winterfell."

She giggled a little, wrapping her arm around his waist but her hand could barely touch the mattress opposite because he was so broad.

"What can I say?" she yawned. "I saw you were getting soft."

There was probably an indignant reply somewhere but also somewhere they were both really too tired to argue and fell asleep in each other's arms.

…o0o…

 **Any thoughts guys? Criticisms? Commendations? Either one would be great but please review so I know people still want to read this**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Sandor cracked his neck as he bent down to unclip the rabbit from the snare and sling it over his shoulder. Never before had he felt his age until he was constantly bending down and retrieving and rebaiting the traps and continuing to walk for the rest of the day but he could hear the creaks in his bones. He could hear the strain of his back. Hells but he liked moving around constantly instead of guarding the little bird.

He deserved this but…he swiped his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. The little bird showed him that even though he was a bad person he could still be rewarded despite beating up her sworn shield. Not that Brienne wasn't in the wrong. He stood up and trudged through the thickening snow. He would have to head back soon and he had a long walk ahead of him.

The old anger over Brienne flared as he tried to push the extra energy to his feet to keep walking. Sansa didn't actually understand his reason for being angry. She just assumed that it was a delayed reaction to Brienne leaving her for the Boltons but it was for so much more than that. It was because he didn't realise that Brienne had found her. He assumed the reason she was having the nightmares was because she couldn't be saved in time. Then that squire had to go running his mouth about how they were waiting outside the Boltons waiting for a sign to save her. As if it wasn't fucking obvious.

He was pissed and it was for Brienne not storming in even though she heard the rumours. It was for listening to the screams and doing nothing. It was for everything the little bird had to suffer that he couldn't rage at her for.

Not that Brienne blamed him when he visited her in her rooms. She looked more beaten than him but after a stony silence and his brief apology she forgave him and forced him out of her room again. Though it was not surprising because as soon as he had turned the corner he saw the red head Wildling come to her door and pound with no heed of who could be listening. What was more surprising was the way he saw Brienne's hand fisted in his coat and dragged him into her chambers without a hello but the way they were already scrabbling at each other's clothes was obvious. He continued to walk to Sansa's room leaving the noises behind him. Brienne's relationship was less complicated than his.

He was the lowly Hound and she was the acting Queen of the North. They had no future. They had no real beginning either. The only reason she turned to his embrace was because he was the only man who never showed her brutality sexually or otherwise. Not exactly the sterling recommendation that he hoped for.

He wasn't going to knock it though. She would sooner figure out that she could learn to trust other men who were prettier and could please her better and just as soon kick Sandor out again. Then he would have to learn to live with the sounds of her cries that weren't elicited because of him. And swallow down all his rage and hurt with a wine skin and a fuck from the local brothel.

The snow crunched under his feet as he continued to stomp his way through, the light already dimming but he had a good few hours left to walk. A good few hours to help walk off his sexual frustration. Since they began their relations never had she tried to see his face. Too ugly for her he knew, but that didn't ease any of the pain for Sandor. To be so ugly even the politest little bird couldn't chirp her apologies and false courtesies.

Grunting Sandor savoured the image in his mind of her pale and wanting, waiting body and continued to trudge through the winter landscape praying for the heat of the fire and of the Queen's touch.

…o0o…

While she knew what she asked of Sandor was a punishment, she never saw him happier. Well, at least in the bedroom he never looked happier but that was always after he returned late in the evening where he would be too tired to have sex but enough energy to make sure she slept. Sansa thought it was about her body yet when they had their late night conversations and jokes, she could almost pretend it was her own husband that was warming her bed, then the sad reality that she wouldn't marry again or marry someone as low born as Sandor made its appearance.

It was dawn and it had become their ritual for Sandor to sneak from their bed to change into his armour again and for Sansa to watch sleepily under the furs, doing her best to tempt him back.

Today was no different.

"Gods be good but I can't wait to finish with the hunters," he groaned, cricking his neck and rubbing the back of his neck.

Stretching out on the bed, Sansa noted that he stared at her breasts when they peeked out of the furs. _This could work_ , she thought as she tried to hold in the smile that threatened to come out at the sign of his hunger at her body. He was still at the side of the bed so before he could think better of it she rolled to her knees, her hands sliding up his chest, her naked chest pressing against his.

This was much better than she anticipated as their skin rubbed together like it had through the night.

"I can't wait for you to be finished with it either," she pressed a kiss to his clavicle.

Chuckling, his hands slid down her back before swatting her bottom. Sansa squeaked and glared up at him.

"Get back under the furs before you catch your fucking death," he smirked, his hands clenching on her buttocks dragging her further into his hairy, rough chest.

Well this would make it particularly difficult but she couldn't complain as she squirmed closer to his warmth. While she shivered, Sansa knew it wasn't from the cold as her nipples were sensitised against this gruff man.

"I have a better sport in mind to keep warm," she trailed one hand down from his neck so that it rested on his heart.

Sandor snorted as he stared down at her, his eyes warm.

"Let me fucking guess," he shifted his hips against her where she could feel his hardening manhood. "It involves two people."

Tugging with the one hand she still had behind his neck she smiled just before their lips met.

"You're a smart man," she murmured.

Every time their lips met she revelled in the sparks that flushed beneath her skin. At his caress she shivered, at his hot breath on her skin she moaned and at his lips on hers she was conquered. Slowly he lowered back onto the bed, his hardness pressing into her softness but his kiss allowed no interruptions. Softly moving them over her own his tongue caressed hers, making love to her slowly. Love? No, but…the image and possibility was now why her heart quickened for him.

Moaning she arched into his touch she was quickly disappointed as he reared back with a gasp. She must have made a sight because he groaned deep in his throat and captured her mouth in one last blood boiling kiss that had her hips flinching into his crotch hoping for some relief before pulling away leaving her cold without his embrace.

"You are fucking trouble, my lady," he grumbled as he finally left her.

Sansa could barely find the energy to close her legs after he left, instead choosing to prop herself up on her elbows staring as he shrugged into his tunic while his breeches still looked too tight over his manhood.

"Keep looking at me like that little bird," he groaned as he stared back at her as he buckled on his armour with ease. "And you'll find you can't walk later."

Flushing she lowered her eyes to her body which from the cold and the passion for the man in front of her had risen with goose bumps. There were also a few of the left over scars from Ramsey but other than the memories now when she looked at her body she couldn't help but see the beauty in her curves, the way she knew her body inspired the man in front of her to snap his self-control.

Her legs were long and she could remember how Sandor moved her the way he wanted, holding them in his strong grip as he held her open as he kissed his way up her thighs. Or flipping her over as he took her from behind. She startled.

Had Sandor ever taken her any other way?

She wracked her brains but found that since they began their illicit relations that she had never seen him in the throes of passion. Never saw his face as he entered her. Shivering again there was no use in thinking of his hot body rasping against her own because after Sandor's sword was strapped back to his hips, she knew that there was no possibility of getting him back to the bed. Reluctantly she slithered back under the furs back to the warm patch.

Sansa stared at him as he rolled his shoulders before retreating to his appropriate side of the room. Did she bring it up? He was pleasing her greatly with how he treated her, but they hadn't had sex since he had begun his stint as the hunters' help. She wasn't displeased with the situation but there was a part of her that was gnawing at her arousal. What would he look like as he spilled his seed in her? Never again did she believe she would want to know what a man looked like as they finished their duty in the marriage bed but as she stared at him there was a flutter in her heartbeat.

Swallowing past the thoughts that were a little too friendly to the man in front of her she shifted further down in the bed. But surely it wouldn't be unreasonable to ask him, right? She chewed on her lip that was still swollen from his kisses and sore from his beard.

"What is it, little bird?" Sandor rasped, his dark eyes on her form.

Startled her eyes darted to him. He chuckled.

"You are wearing a hole into that plump fucking lip of yours," his eyes were ravenous and she found herself blushing under his attention.

Was she so obvious? But she couldn't help but feel since he was the one to bring it up it surely wouldn't be a bad thing to mention it?

"Why-Why do you only," she stuttered and cleared her throat, "only take me from behind?"

Sandor blinked before the warm expression on his face hardened to the usual scowl.

"I thought I was only wearing you out so didn't realise it fucking mattered," he responded darkly.

Frowning Sansa shifted so she was sitting upright in the bed, clutching the furs to her chest.

"Still doesn't mean that we can't…" she trailed off a fiery flame rising from her chest and rushing through her face.

She gave up trying to finish the sentence instead tried to implore with her face for Sandor to understand what she was trying to say.

"That we can't fuck in different positions?" he supplied.

Sansa nodded, her finger playing with the furs her face flushed hot. Sandor sighed and there was the shifting of his chain mail.

"You don't want to look on an old dog's face."

Frowning she stared back.

"You don't know what I want," she replied.

Sandor snorted and for the first time since he had come to Winterfell she saw the old Hound.

"You flinched every fucking time you looked upon my face, back in King's Landing," he sneered.

"Only because you were always scowling at me!" she protested, standing barely flinching as the cold covered every part of her.

He laughed but it wasn't the good humoured one she had become accustomed to the past few weeks but the one full of darkness of those he murdered. And that made her angry. She could feel her breath quicken and her cheeks flush that had nothing to do with her modesty. She strode over to him.

"I don't understand what I have done to deserve such hatred when you treat me so gently," she challenged, her hands planted on her hips uncaring of her nakedness.

Scowling, Sandor remained still as he glared down his nose at her as she stood proud, dressed in nothing except what she was born with.

"I treat you how you have fucking ordered me to treat you," he sneers.

She flinched back a step.

"You don't mean that," she stated although anyone could hear the waver in her voice.

"'Course I fucking do," he snarled. "As if a man like me would be able to get near your cunt without your fucking orders."

Tears sprung to Sansa's eyes and she tried to rub them away.

"Stop it," she swiped angrily at her tears. "Just stop it."

"Why?" he stepped towards her. "Not liking what you fucking see my queen? Well I'm sorry that I offend your delicate fucking sensibilities."

Her mouth screwed up and her hand just itched to bring it to his face, like when she had done it in the cells. There was a part of her that recognised that it was probably what he wanted and she couldn't understand why for the life of her he would want that. And then the Sansa in her chest that she thought had died with Ramsey the day he was torn apart by the dogs, ascended from the ashes and wanted to cower back into her bed, not wanting to antagonise such a brute of a man like the Hound. Just thankful to be handed any scraps from him because that's what she deserved.

The eyes of the Hound were hard like the stone that encased them in the warm room. Nothing like Sandor Clegane's eyes. His were like the warm earth back in King's Landing, softly turned for the blossoming flowers in the flowerbeds. And just like that her wolf snapped its jaws around Scared Sansa's throat, twisting it savagely like the scowl on her own face.

"I liked it plenty," she assured, storming to grab her robe. There was only so far that a man could take a woman seriously with no clothes on. "When I was making love with Sandor Clegane, not being fucked like a bitch in heat by the Hound."

Turning back to him coolly to see his startled expression and that almost crumbled her fragile self-esteem. Knowing that she had shared all of herself with him and he couldn't even share himself back or even understand what she gifted him. The first man she ever gifted it willingly to. And that made the pain in her heart worse, so much worse, as she marched back to her bed to warm up. Without him. The sheets were tucked firmly under her chin as she stared at the opposite wall, her back tensed and facing Sandor.

"Little bird-" he started, his armour clinking as he stepped after her.

"Sorry that you have had to suffer so," she said coolly. "I release you from your duties to stay in my bed and from now on you may guard _outside_ my door."

The pause of silence was the worst.

Scared Sansa wanted reassurances. The Queen of the North wanted him grovelling for her forgiveness. They both got neither. Sansa's prickling ears heard the heavy thuds of Sandor Clegane striding away from her and reaching the door. Another pause. She held her breath.

The lock tumbled over and the cross bar lifted as Sandor strode out of her room and closed the door behind him with a muted thud.

Cringing back into her sheets, her chest tightened uncomfortably. Her fists gathered more of the furs to her face as she shut her eyes tight, determined more than ever not to let another tear escape in front of that man or _for_ that man. Sansa shuffled so she was not on his side of the bed so she wouldn't have to suffer the smell of metal oil and wine, of the man that she thought would never hurt her as she felt her heart crack and break in the silence of the gloom.

…o0o…

The nightmares came back as she knew they would.

It took a few days but they came back and with an intensity that almost had her crawling back to Sandor. If her pride allowed it which it wouldn't while it was on the floor licking its wounds. He never had to be so cruel, he could have lied…but then he wouldn't have been the man she wanted in her bed. There was only so much her pride could take and unfortunately it had none to spare for Sandor Clegane or any man for that matter anymore.

She woke soaked in sweat, tears burning her face and Sandor's impassive face standing directly across from her. The first night he woke her from her nightmares after she banned him from her bed, he offered her wine.

Sansa shoved his chest and told him to get out even though her arms and every fibre in her being was begging to be in _his_ arms again. Following that incident though he never woke her again. Instead when she woke herself and saw that he would be staring at her his dark eyes unfathomable depths she would fetch her own wine, uncomfortable under his stare that followed her about the room. She would then sew in the comfort of her bed until she felt the tiredness dry her eyes and let her fall asleep again. This continued on for days until the days stretched to a week. Then two.

Arya's and Brienne's eyes followed her every movement through dinner sensing something was up but whenever either mentioned concern, they would sooner find their head bitten off than with the 'chirping of a proper lady'. The protests slowly waned but even Brienne offered to take over from Sandor if she was struggling with…that. 'That' didn't need to be explained as everyone in Winterfell was well aware of her troubles sleeping.

The vehemence with which she replied forestalled any future offer that Brienne ever made again. No, Sansa wanted Sandor to listen. To ensure he knew the agony she went through. To know that he was the one who stopped it for a while but with his comments let it all come raging back.

It was coming to the end of the second week before Sandor cracked.

She had woken from one of the more horrible ones to have him shaking her awake his face contorted in pain and with a moment of weakness she let her head rest against his metal breast plate, letting out a shuddery breath, tears pooling dangerously under her lids, close to falling.

Before he would have sat there stiffly but after everything that _she ordered_ him to do, his powerful arms tightened around her, embracing her with his warmth. She wanted to stay there, gods did she want to stay. Then her mind and sanity had to return to her. Everything he said flooded over her like snow shoved down the back of her dress.

She stiffened and tried to pull away but found for once his hands were holding her against him still.

"Please," his rasp breaking through the gloomy room and she could almost pretend she could hear that he cared. "Sansa let me-"

"Do not," she bit out, "presume to be so familiar with me."

His arms loosened and that was enough to shove out of his arms and roll to the other side of the bed to go grab a goblet of wine. She knew if she stayed in his embrace any longer she would have given in like he hadn't said half the things that he did. Like he hadn't broken what she thought he repaired.

"Are you seriously not letting me help you because of your fucking _pride_?" he snarled at her back. "I'm a dog, it shouldn't fucking matter."

Her hand shook as she poured wine into her cup and a little spilled on her hand. Like blood. At his words she slammed down the jug harder than necessary.

"What pride when I _clearly_ lowered myself to share my bed with you," she stated, not turning as she guzzled the wine and quickly refilled her cup. "And here I thought you didn't care."

His armour clanked as he stormed over to her, his step heavy reminding her of his weight when in a moment of tenderness he placed delicate kisses along her neck and back and his weight pushed her into the sheets. She shook her head roughly. No, she wasn't going to remember a fallacy.

"Of course I fucking care!" he snapped.

Sandor's hand grabbed her shoulder but she slapped it off as she turned abruptly.

"Do not _think_ to touch me," she hissed, "when I _shared_ myself with you and you spit on me as if I am not worth the ground you walk on."

"You knew when you let me fuck you that I wasn't a knight with all your fucking songs and poems," he snarled. "So why should you give a shit when I only tell you the fucking truth?"

"Because I wanted-" she stopped.

Her heart raced in her chest and as she stared up at him all the scars red and pitted in the firelight and despite all the rage bottled inside her she never thought he looked more handsome. With his armour on she couldn't stop the way her palms sweated with nervous tension, the way her blood sang for him to hold her. With his eyes she blushed as she thought he could see into her soul, see her for what she truly was. Tears blocked her view again.

She spun, turning back to the wine, her hands shaking again which she couldn't hide from him as the metal clacked against the rim of her cup. There was the clank of metal and she felt his large hand gently close over her own and it took all she had to hold in her sob. Sandor placed the jug to the side but held her hand still enough that she blurted what she had wanted and desired for a long while.

"Because I _wanted_ you to love me," she whispered brokenly, "the way that I loved you."

They were both silent with only the cracking of the flames. His hand slid off hers and her heart sank in her chest. He didn't want her. Sandor's hands cupped her shoulders and this time she didn't have the energy to slap him off as he turned her so she faced him again. She refused to see the rejection in his eyes, see the pity so stared at their feet. Hers bare and his booted. A boot stepped forwards so they were toe to toe.

"You think that I would fuck any lady because she fucking ordered me to?" he gruffed.

Her tears spilled over her cheeks. What happened to never shedding a tear for him again?

"That I would stay in her bed like a loyal fucking dog at her beck and call?"

Shame flooded through her and it took all her strength to swallow her sob.

"That I would put my mouth on her cunt because she fucking _ordered_ me to?"

The lump in her throat grew that it was a wonder she could even breathe.

"I wouldn't do that for all the fucking gods in the world," he snarled before he softened his voice. "There has been one lady and one lady only, that I could fucking make love to."

Her heart lifted but she didn't dare to hope. This was another ploy. The hands that were on Sansa's shoulders slipped up her neck until they cupped her face, his thumbs under her chin as he tilted her up to see his face deathly serious, his eyes intent on hers. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"And she is fucking in front of me."

It was like everything stopped still. Her heart ceased to beat because she ceased to be. What did he just say? She blinked up at him, mute. He seemed at a loss for words too as his eyes darted away from hers uncomfortably, his hands loosening against her face. Realising he was going to step away she quickly grabbed his large scarred hands and held them to her face. Her heart began to beat again and with it brought a flush that drowned her body but one area in particular that demanded attention.

Sliding her hands down his hands to his arms, she followed the trail until she reached his shoulders where the buckles holding his armour together and stopped. Her breath stuttered in her chest as she flirted with the straps. Could she do it? As her bravery started to leave her he unbuckled them for her, making short work of it.

They still didn't say anything as the metal clanked against the wooden table but she didn't need to. And she didn't need some soft reassurance as his eyes devoured her form. As each link of his armour was removed, the heady feeling suffocated her. Her hands reached for the ties on her shift even though Sandor could probably see the way her nipples hardened for him. The way her cheeks reddened for him. Letting the silky shift slip from her shoulders she held her breath as Sandor devoured her form as it rustled and pooled at her feet.

Finally he was in his breeches and tunic and Sansa was nervous and it wasn't helped any from the way that he refused to take off his shirt or breeches. Never had they both been so silent in the lead up to touching each other. Swallowing any anxiety she had, Sansa let a shaky hand touch Sandor's chest, right over his heart.

And like an arrow shot from a crossbow with an instant death, it was inevitable that they would finally collide.

Sandor grabbed her hips as she linked her hands behind his head and he yanked her up shoving her back and spilling the wine. She couldn't find it within herself to care as his hot lips descended on her mouth and she was lost.

Moaning she shoved her hands up and under his tunic wanting nothing between them anymore. As if hearing her unspoken request he tore it off with vigour as he muscled her further back on the table, one hand going to the small of her back holding their groins close together to get the friction they needed. They groaned and Sansa didn't want any space between them. She wrapped her hands around his waist to hold him against her breasts that were begging for attention.

Sandor bent down and their kiss erupted with a fury and his tongue sent her mind spiralling and her core burning with a heat for him. The hand that wasn't on the small of her back gripped at her hair yanking her back that would have sent her into a nervous wreck before but now… she gasped into his mouth. Now it enflamed her, made her all the more furious for his touch.

He released her but only to place his hand at her womanhood, preparing to stretch her when he groaned.

"Shit you're so wet for me," his mouth pressed against her ear his hips rocking eagerly into her.

"Only for you," she gasped. "Only ever for you. Always."

Barely moving his breeches enough he sheathed himself in her with a powerful thrust. Keening in his ear, Sansa rocked with him letting him stoke the flames that had her flushed and sweating despite the freezing cold, despite the fact that he should have repulsed her, that he should have said no to her. That they were sooner to break apart than to heal.

But they were there and his hands were in her hair. Her fingernails were clawing at his back and their mouths bruising the others as if that would show their passion for the other. Her eyes were clenched shut at the feel of his beard rasping against her soft skin and her ankles linked at his back desperate to keep his thick length within her as if him not moving within her would be better than him parting from her for the one second.

He groaned in her ear and his fingers clenching on her skin would be sure to bruise but she didn't care. The man she loved was in her arms, the man who loved her was finally caressing her with the tenderness that she only dreamed about and it was hotter, more passionate than any embrace they ever shared.

Every sound he made shivered through her, every time he gasped her name she moaned his, bleeding at every pore for this man in her arms to fulfil her the way she hoped she fulfilled him.

"Are you close little bird?" he groaned in her ear, his hips pistoning faster.

She bit his shoulder so she didn't cry too loudly but nodded anyway.

"Then look at me," he ordered.

When she didn't comply quickly enough he grabbed the hair at the base of her neck so her blue eyes met his dark ones. His burnt face caused so much disgust to anyone else and once within herself. But she saw through his rugged looks, his crude countenance and seeing his tender side was enough that she was shaking from the pleasure running down her spine. She wanted to let her eyes flutter closed but knew that he hadn't asked anything of her since this had begun so she could suffer the embarrassment of his stare as she was a hot and sweaty mess.

He stilled within her and she wanted to whine her disapproval but it was silenced by his gentle lips caressing her own. Pulling away he grinned which she couldn't help but tenderly respond with.

"Well, I'm looking," she goaded. "Do I get a reward?"

He slammed back in her suddenly enough her bottom left the table and she gasped loudly.

"You get a reward," he grunted as he shoved into her again. "When you look at me and say my name."

The easiest request she'd ever been asked and knotted her hands in his hair yanking his face closer as she tried to wriggle their lower halves together but he refused to move. Damn the man.

"Sandor," she breathed, staring deep into his eyes. "Please."

Releasing her hair briefly Sandor traced her face down her body until it joined his other hand on her buttocks clenching.

"You want my dick?" he growled, moving an inch.

Her cringe barely lasted as second as she nodded eagerly knowing that her protest against his vocabulary would only delay this passionate embrace. And that was the wrong time to mention his crudeness when all she wanted was to finish together. She really did need to talk to him about his language though. He grinned manically and powered into her once again enough that she didn't have time to clench her teeth in his shoulder but he thought of that.

Sandor slammed his mouth down on hers, muffling her screams as his tongue dominating hers, his hands pinning her down as he plunged into her over and over. The heat wave that had abated inflamed again as his touch, his kiss, his body made love to her. Never saying the words but his body and passion said it all for him a hundred times over.

The rasp of his beard, the scars of his face and the growl of his voice clenched her tighter and she moaned into his mouth as the fire pit where they were connected combusted. Whining deep within her throat she shook as the pleasure crashed over her and left her numb and weak as Sandor finished inside her.

Never before she thought she would savour the breath of a man on her skin, never believed that she would adore when his eyes stared down at her like she was the only thing between him and death. Never imagined that when she had a man's child she would be content with a girl but here Sandor Clegane, not a knight, no, but with honoured promises and good to her when she had no right, she could imagine his blossoming in her stomach.

She believed she wanted a prince, _needed_ a prince to be queen. But she was the Lady of Winterfell, the acting Queen of Winterfell and she didn't need a prince, didn't need a man. But she did need, she did _crave_ Sandor who treated her like the Queen herself.

Placing light kisses on her forehead he lifted her up like she was nothing more than a sack of flour. After settling them in the bed, Sandor pushed back the stray strands of hair that had made its way onto her face. Sansa let her hands rest on his chest, revelling in the heat and security that he provided.

Sandor shifted and winced. Alarmed she propped herself on an elbow.

"Are you okay?"

Cupping her hip he dragged her back down into the furs and his embrace.

"Aye," he chuckled. "Though my back is scratched more than there are fucking cracks in a weirwood tree."

She blushed ducking her head under his chin.

"I suppose I can't call you little bird anymore, can I? Little minx?" he mused, rolling onto his back and taking her with him.

"The correct animal would be a wolf," she responded, yawning.

"Aye, little wolf cub."

She smacked his chest half-heartedly propping her chin under her hands on his chest as she blinked at him. He followed suit supporting his head with his arm, his bicep bulging distractingly as he stared down at her. His hand trailed flaming paths on her back, flirting the borderline with her bottom and the small of her back. She traced his smirk with her index finger.

"Gods help the realm if you smiled like that around other women," she murmured, leaning up to press her lips against his.

Sandor's face contorted a mixture of confusion and hurt which Sansa was quick to rectify.

"I'm serious," she folded her arms underneath her chin and tangled their legs further. "If you smiled more often I think there would be a war between the women, not to mention the ones I caught you smiling at."

His snort trumpeted his disbelief.

"And if I smiled at another woman?" he arched his good brow.

A cold wave washed over her so she was calm and stony. Her hand paused stroking his chest as she stared at him blankly.

"Then that would be one less woman in the realm," she arched her own brow. "Do you want their blood on your hands?"

He chuckled and tightened his hold on her.

"I stand corrected my she-wolf, you are vicious and I'm fucking trembling in my boots," his hand finally breached the void and cupped a buttock in one of his large hands hoisting her further up his body.

While he thought she was joking, she could already feel the blood of those women he would smile at covering her hands and hoped that he would be wise not to test her. Instead she just smiled and straddled him to gain a greater vantage point as she kissed him senseless.

* * *

 **Hope you guys are still okay with how it is going, give me a shout out if you are liking this story by favouriting it or following it whatever. Please review because I love the comments that you guys give me :) That and I really want to improve as a writer and I don't really know how to do that without your help!**

 **xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Her hands grasped desperately at Sandor's shoulders her heels pressing on the back of his thighs desperate for him to go faster, push her higher as she tried in vain to hold in her gasp.

"Fuck," he hissed in Sansa's ear, pounding ever harder into her and she clenched unintentionally. "How are you so fucking tight?"

The pleasure she had from his own appreciation of her body was pleasing but the way he said it could leave much to be desired. She learnt very early on that he revelled in her blushes but she still couldn't stop the flush that blanketed her cheeks, ears and neck at his crude words. However she found that she couldn't find the time to care when he spread her wider with a forceful use of his arms and then her eyes were drawn to his brawny chest and she climaxed.

Bending her back she already felt Sandor getting close and she flushed hotter when he powered into her harder and harder until she could feel the shiver of a second round of bliss hitting her. He yanked on her hair and the pinpricks of ecstasy darted to the molten heat they were stoking between their crotches. Gasping her mouth clamped on a burly shoulder, Sansa tasted the salt on him.

"Fuck me," he grabbed her bottom to shove her to a different position where he began to hit that spot within her that forced her to rake her nails down his back again.

The scoring of her nails down his back was always a source of amusement to him. Sandor had commented on it once or twice but always with a grin. Well, he was the one who was bedding one of the Wolves of Winterfell, if he couldn't handle her bite and her scratches then he didn't deserve to be sleeping in the den. However she would have to be blind not to feel the way his movements slowed to jerky thrusts at the pain she inflicted so she continued to rough up his back until he came with a muffled roar which he buried in her neck.

Clearly the dog loved to lie with the wolves.

"Hells but you fucking ruin me," he groaned into her ear, kissing his way down her neck.

Sansa's head lolled back, her hips while tired made a half-hearted attempt to grind back into him.

"Clearly the hound can't keep up with the wolf," she teased but quickly gasped as she felt his fingers inside her.

"Or maybe the wolf is insatiable," he grunted in her ear, biting down on her lobe. "And can be conquered by no man or dog."

Giggling she rolled him onto his back, straddling him with ease. Since their 'talk' it was like she unleashed the beast and found that more days than not, she couldn't walk much to his amusement and pride.

She wanted to respond with the sassy quips that he loved but found her mouth could only form his name and the word 'yes' as his mouth descended on her breasts, his tongue wreaking havoc on her until she cupped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream.

"My lady!" a cry came from outside and before she could even shout the word 'stop' the door was barged in.

Quick as a fly Sandor had her off his lap and covered by the furs but it was unmistakeable their position, their nakedness and their bruised mouths to who walked in on them, what they were doing. That and probably her guilty expression like a girl caught with her hand with a cookie in the molasses jar.

Baelish didn't look surprised but it was Brienne and Arya's horrified faces that had her inching the furs higher on her chest and her cheeks red. When no one was going to say anything Sansa thought to try and break the ice.

"Shut the door," she ordered, trying to fish her nightdress from the bottom of the bed surreptitiously.

Which was hard to do when Sandor snorted, bent and chucked it at her. Glaring at him briefly she wormed her way back into her shift, lacing it up with a competence from hurried dressing that usually avoided situations like this.

"What is going on here, _dog?_ " Baelish feigned disgust and horror.

"Sansa?" Arya's voice begged a response that she couldn't answer.

Her throat dried up but Sandor looked a little lost for words to but he continued to find his breeches and shuffle into them, lacing them with a quick efficiency as he was dressed in record time.

"Explain yourself, Hound!" Brienne demanded unsheathing her sword.

Sansa's eyes widened. This was not going how she planned, not that she had planned to tell anyone but…this was still going horribly. Snatching her robe from beside the bed she quickly covered herself from Baelish's eager gaze hoping Sandor missed it.

With the Hound's glower her hope sunk like a ship raided by the Ironborn fleet.

"I ordered him in my bed," she managed to stutter as she rounded the bed so she stood in front of him. "He was only doing it because I ordered it."

Arya snorted and Sansa burned in embarrassment. How obvious could she be? Of course, the Hound never did anything he didn't want to do. Even a death threat wasn't going to work when it seemed he craved the relief it would grant him.

"I bedded your queen," Sandor said behind her. "What the fuck of it?"

The ensuing silence was thick as everyone seemed a little loss for words. Sansa's throat went dry and she had to hold back the urge to kick him in the shins. Why would he say it like that? This was one of the times she wished that she could have tempered his language a little.

"Out of respect for our queen," Baelish inclined his head towards the woman in question. "You have a day and night to pack your things and leave Winterfell."

"No!" she cried. "He has done nothing wrong!"

"My lady," Brienne interjected. "He took advantage of your innocence-"

"What innocence?" Sansa flung her hands in the air. "In case you forgot I have been married twice before, one of which you," she pointed her finger at Baelish, "sent me to be raped continually. And you," she turned her attention to Brienne. "Left me to be raped!"

Her chest heaved and her eyes burned with angry tears which she felt ruined the effect of her anger when she looked closer to a break down. Arya was suspiciously quiet as she stared at Sandor, contemplating and evaluating. She was yanked out of her musings when she felt the familiar weight of Sandor's hand on her shoulder.

"It's alright little bird," he rumbled. "It wouldn't be good for your standing to be seen with me around anyway."

Her heart tried to thump pathetically but as it tried it cracked and fell to the floor at her feet. The chill of winter was nothing for what was flooding through her body.

"N-No," she stuttered. "You don't need to worry about that, they won't say anything."

Sandor glanced meaningfully at Baelish.

"Everyone out!"

"My lady-" Brienne protested.

"OUT!"

They quick stepped back out of Sansa's room. Turning her fury to the man she thought loved her she planted her hands on her hips.

"You. Are. Not. Leaving. Me," she snarled.

Sandor stepped towards the door but she blocked it with her body which was all the more puny than she originally thought. But glowering up at him she could see something in him flinch. Good. She had some power in this to win.

"Sansa," he implored.

"No!" she poked his chest. "You are staying here. With me."

Sandor threw his hands in the air.

"And then fucking what?" he gestured to the door. "We were lucky that it was them and not one of your other subordinates and then where would you be? Still Queen? Not fucking likely."

She grabbed his forearms. Gods but he was serious and that was enough to begin her flood works again.

"Please," she rested her head against his chest. "We only need to last as long as it takes for Jon to get back and then we can do whatever we like."

He prised her hands off his chest gently before seizing her chin and irrevocably tugged her so she was staring up at his scarred face. She would not cry, she would not cry, she would not cry-

Rubbing his thumb under her eye she felt a warm wetness being spread across her high cheekbone. Gods why were they being so cruel?

"You can't leave me," she couldn't even hide the tremble in her voice.

Why did her chest hurt so much? Was she dying? Was this going to be the final blow? Not exactly how she planned it but hopefully Sandor would feel guilty enough if her corpse was at his feet and it was his fault.

"I fucking have to, little bird," he whispered, pressing his lips roughly to her head before stepping away.

Sansa dogged his steps the anger at his surrender flaring up again.

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I fuckin' do!"

"Why?" she demanded, her fist clenching.

Normally she was not one prone to lashing out but Sandor really brought out the worst in her. If he kept talking like he was she was _not_ going to be responsible for her actions.

"Because," he glowered at her. "High borns don't exactly like sloppy seconds from a dog who fucked their queen into the mattress!"

"Since when did you give a _damn_ about what other people thought!" she shoved at his chest.

As expected he didn't stumble but he did blink.

"Did you just swear?" he asked.

Growling, she shoved her hands into his chest again but this time he held onto her hands, yanking her forward so she collided with his chest. Her heart drummed in her chest as she was close to the body that distracted her but her head was still reeling from him giving in so easily to be evicted from Winterfell.

"Stop just-just _fucking_ about!" she shrieked uncaring what anyone else could hear if they were loitering outside. "Why are you so eager to leave me?"

Sandor now started to look angry. Finally. Then he could have a taste of his own medicine.

"Because we have no future!" he spat back, releasing her wrists violently enough that she stumbled back.

But Sansa wasn't going to let him push her away. Not when she knew how he felt about her and _especially_ not with the way she felt about him.

" _No one_ has a future," she retorted. "We could be killed by Cersei."

She forced their bodies closer.

"We could be savaged by White Walkers."

His breath on her face was distracting but she forced herself to focus on his eyes both of which were narrowed menacingly.

"We could even _starve_ to death with this winter."

Stepping back into the circle of his arms, Sandor's back collided with the wall as she advanced. Finally she stopped when they were toe to toe and her hands were cupped on his face, his scars looking soft in the darkness but she could feel their pits, the bumps and the smoothness under her left hand.

"Why should we wait when half or even _all_ these people are going to be dead at the end of winter?"

Encouraged by his stillness she leaned forwards on her tip toes, gently bringing him back down to her. Back to her embrace.

"Why don't we enjoy the time we have each other," she breathed against his lips, "while it lasts."

It was only for a second that her lips connected with his own but the spark of fire that crackled between them was enough that he finally let down the last of his walls.

Hitching her up she barely had time to grab him before he was tossing her onto the bed, his breeches already being tugged off while yanking so her shift exposed one needy breast and herself with two quick hands.

She burned for him and her chest heaved for breath when he devoured her mouth, slanting it so they had a delicious slide with his beard rasping at her lower lip when he teased her. Placing her heels on the edge of the bed she tried to shuffle back so there was enough room for Sandor but he just as soon yanked her back so that his bare manhood grinded against her.

She flushed and her eager hands wanted his tunic that was covering his sculpted body _off_ but he thwarted her attempts as he leant further away. Kneeling on the floor his mouth wasted no time playing her body like a lute as he moved his caresses, kisses and licks higher, his beard coarse on her skin flushing her blood to a boiling point. Sansa held her breath before his tongue tightened her body tight like a cross bow, ready to release at any moment.

His hot breath on the apex of her thighs had her toes curling as her blush buried deep within her blood. Her gasps and cries could be heard to those outside her door but now her secret was out she really couldn't care less as the man she loved was between her legs, his large hands tracing her body, worshipping her as if he had created his new cult.

After she relaxed back into the covers, grabbing her bottom he yanked her so their crotches were together once again but just as he was about to send them further onto the bed she wrapped everything around him not wanting to parted for a moment. Sandor grunted at the change of position but when their eyes met his crinkled with his grin. Rising up to his full height as he pinned her on the icy wall beside the bed, their bodies stuck together with their sweat and embrace.

Flinching further into his heat away from the cruel wall, she was now holding his tunic to try and warm herself up. What she wouldn't do so they could consummate their agreement already. But her eyes could barely leave his as his hands clenched into her buttocks holding her wider as his hips pinned her to the wall as he guided himself in.

They both groaned as the slick slide clenched her opening as it was too much stimulation so soon after her first climax.

"Sandor," she gasped, her nails already raking his back.

His only response was pummelling his hips into hers which she really, _really_ couldn't complain about as she buried her head in his neck pressing desperate kisses all over his musky skin begging for his touch. She had him pressed all along her but still she felt that they couldn't get closer, she wanted his mouth on her and like he answered her prayers she felt his tongue on her shocking through her system resulting in her clenching around his thickness.

Grunting in her ear he powered faster into her that she was biting down on her lip to hold in her keening but she didn't withhold her pleas which Sandor returned tenfold, hitching her up higher before driving into her at a new angle. Her eyes rolled back in her head that she almost lost her grip as he continued to maul her and she couldn't stop the way her stomach tightened already though it had been a few minutes since he first entered her.

His teeth tore into her shoulder that she thought she would bleed but she hadn't cared about pain since he first came to her bed. She knew he was the only man other than Jon who she could trust not to hurt her. His back was soaked in sweat under his tunic which she bunched in her fists holding on for dear life as Sandor finally released within her.

Panting she swore she could only hear their heartbeats from where all their skin was connected. The silence was broken when her partner snorted into her neck and moved her back to be tucked under the furs.

"What?" she asked as she reclined on the bed.

Not bothering to bring up her shift for false modesty, she noticed the starving hunger that was in Sandor's eyes as he settled into the bed too, his hand stroking her stomach.

"I think the whole of fucking Winterfell heard your screams," he teased as his hand smoothed its way to the underside of her breast.

Her shivering had nothing to do with the chill as Sansa swallowed and turned towards his body.

"Let them," she whispered as she let her hand stroke his beard.

Although her declaration was ruined by the way her blush reached all the way to her ears. Curse on her red hair and pale skin. But also curse the way he made her forget her position in Winterfell. Sandor's large hand stroked back the errant strands of hair that made its way onto her face and combed it back, silently staring at her with a smirk.

"With the amount you blush a man would think he is taking a maiden to bed every night," he teased lowly as he pressed their cold feet together to warm them.

Ducking her eyes Sansa traced his chest for something to do, waiting for him to finish his teasing so she could finally meet his gaze again.

"No little chirp of response?"

She snuggled closer tracing one gash that made its way from the lower right hand side of his rib cage and ended at his sternum. He was so brave always going back into the fray. It took so long for her to realise and now that she had, her admiration increased tenfold. And what she wouldn't give for his bravery extend to their own relationship. For Sandor to just dominate his position in their relationship instead of flaking out at the first sign of trouble.

Her glance under her lashes showed his tender smirk, the melted side of his face now endearing, she brought her other hand to trace his jaw. The smile only Sandor Clegane ever showed only her.

"Why chirp when you bark for me?" she grinned, sliding her leg further against his warmth.

He arched his good eyebrow and rested his arm against the curve of her waist before he brought them flush together.

"Why chirp indeed," he grumbled, settling his head further down on the pillow.

They were both silent but the words that were burning a pit in her stomach had to be spoken. Grabbing his face with her hand, her thumb pressed into his cheek much alike at the prison as she forced his gaze on hers.

"You won't leave me," she reiterated, her stony eyes meeting his.

The silence which was once warm in their bed now became chilled. There was only the sound of their breathing and the murmurings outside of her door and Sansa stared into his dark eyes demanding her response.

"I won't leave you," he confirmed as he pressed his lips to hers.

In the back of her mind, fatally, she thought that the kiss tasted like goodbye.

…o0o…

 **Thanks for the fab reviews, they are really encouraging me since this is my first GoT fic! Sorry for those I haven't replied to, I've had uni work that I need to actually read to try and pass my third year! XD**

 **How you guys still finding this? Any predictions? Criticisms?**


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